It has been just ages since I wrote a poem. Months and months. Lots of songs--even a very recent one called "fun with orifices" which, though it is free of swears, is too hot for this blog--but no poems. This one seems mostly like a shaking-the-rust-out sort of poem. And I still haven't thought of a title. Still, it's good enough to post. Even if the end seems kind of blech. I mean, c'mon, who writes out the word "befriended"?
(Edit: end is much better now.)
Let there be surfaces:
dew-slick, cool, wider than
arm's reach, stone's throw, sight.
Light pours, pools over them,
bends them. Only touch tells
where the edges lie.
Dry senses, memories
swept from corners, shaken
from folds--let them sink,
ink, blended. Let there be
surfaces, blank till you
befriend them. Thank them.
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