April 11, 2011


the night the ghosts disappeared
it was quiet.  really, really, quiet.
what happens when the noise shuts down.

. . . .

sucking out ghosts          past Þ into

                                       (sleeping, we are sleeping                                 
 . . . noise  Þ dirt.

things become quiet
becalmed like
the Pequod in the Pacific

a loop of nothing. death
perhaps, is a loop of nothing

I sometimes feel I’m skating close
  to the edge of nothing
bouncing off loops of nothing

                                                 counting nothing

from Oblivion
written 1999 

No comments: