Wednesday, May 6, 2009


I am transparent;
I'm like stained glass.
I cannot
do anything but break.
Glass: there is so much drama in glass.
Oh! That it shatters.
Into cold colour coordinated pieces.
Cold brilliant sparkling icicles
On the floor.
Flat fraudulent floor.
It lies
So desperately it tells
all the secrets
of the glass that ought not to have shattered.
The glass that breaks of its own volition;
how is it blasphemous?
It falls and breaks
But not to fall prey to gravity.
Awkward shapes
incline, recline, or stand on their tippie-toes
Always, there is poise
In each broken piece
That cannot be put together.

1 comment:

  1. hey....did u ever bring this to creative writing?