The open book
pages glued together
broken up mirror
broken reflections
fucked up things
turned around
for the bleakness
out come the nails
this open book
a sharp knife
the pages cut
what I read there
the hands the hours
what were you doing
closing a book
what was I thinking
slamming a door
a black cat
stops and looks
that mystery
needs distance like
an egg needs a horse
closing a book
what was I thinking
slamming a door
a black cat
stops and looks
that mystery
needs distance like
an egg needs a horse
ReplyDeleteI've called the spirit
of many of your poems here
so now just let me say thank you
Oh, I like this one Rob - the pages cut ... the hands/the hours - I like the sense of the pages of the open book being as dangerous - or more so - than the sharp knife. great turn and twist! Love it!
ReplyDelete:)
DeleteThose last six lines! Stand by themselves so perfectly.
ReplyDeleteCheers, James.
Delete