A LOUD PILLOW OF BULLSHIT

^
the origins
of silence reverberate
beneath the deep lonely
a pure white thought is after thin
hostile in its simplicity
bald is ever, like the lake
a thousand yawns in a snowstorm
a snake in the sea
the symbolism of the ear
the closure of the night
if only a bird
to hear
it
~
how still
that i shake my hair to
sense the sun, its particles of fire to singe
my scalp, a moon basking in a blue day sky, quiet and
patient, no decisions to feign
no face to shave
no time to
urge
(( O ))
other days, a cat shrills in the night, black
in my bed that i cringe to imagine
his sudden halt, and the cricket
leg rub of summer's
peace, back
to a dream
ears to
eye

^ ^
O
+

© 2008 Andy Borum