Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Borrowed rooms

This borrowed room
won’t borrow its light from a moon
hidden from sight
behind a plain, black rectangle, but a slight
glow sneaks in at the fringe.

I like to look at that fringe.

My neighbor is
scratching. He is

scraping the wall
with a chalk
piece’s quick jumps, and

its languid swirls. I can

merely guess at
the alibis he writes on its flat

When will the scraping die

It dies down.
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