Erosion of Story

Flickers of sunrise
beat a red tattoo
against my eyelids,
dawn cut into strips
and snippets, quilted
into words, fragments
of position and
movement — plot device —
until nothing is
left to carry on
the meaning. ponder
this mysterious
medley of line, light,
camera, action,
and broken meaning,
these rough sketches of
something that isn’t.


2 responses to “Erosion of Story

  1. What a lovely way to describe the difficult morning awake up process.

  2. I always see my poems through new eyes with your comments. They say completely different things than what was going on in my head. Such a curious process!

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