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q.e.d. (Free verse) by sunsolid
thick fingers drum
along formica, flesh
padded sound
roundrunrounds the room
the art of waiting
is necessitated, never
willed, never wanted,
but birthed by circumstance
and blighted by inconvenience
he draws out a stare,
as a thin and wispy sigh;
here is purpose, the reason
only untoward (whispered for posterity)
waiting moves past him
ending baits
you
and now...
all
once ashen,
now
piss clear
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| xxx | 68.166.37.185 | 0 | June 24, 2005 12:36 PM PDT |
| darylchew | 202.156.2.130 | 6 | September 5, 2004 8:46 AM PDT |
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| wlshepherd | | 4 | May 10, 2002 7:46 AM PDT |
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