Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Poem for Today


Like a sodden newspaper,
Trampled into mud,
Twisted and cushed into a blurred pudding.

Areas of white,
So that the writing means nothing.

Did I also have meaning once?
Sliding through the earth with a purpose?

It's been so long I can't tell anymore.

March 2012

1 comment:

lorraine said...

purpose - yes that essential ingredient to stir in that makes waking and getting up worthwhile or even possible. thank you for your continued posting.