05-17-2014, 08:10 AM
(04-18-2014, 07:11 AM)Leanne Wrote: Emptiness makes meals out of stomachs in this place;
and on the walls, old photographs
documenting dumb luck and madness
in equal measure.
Outside, a dead pigeon’s opened
like sunday service:
some flies have made a church of it.
Inside, I crawl under the bed
and begin to whet my harpoon.
-Next time I see that white whale,
he’ll be sorry.
The original thread can be viewed here.
Love the poem, a creation unto itself. And the best part is I don't have to critique and there's nothing I would anyway. Loretta