Wednesday, December 22, 2004

371. After walking upstairs, he could hear the water skittering behind the wall. The thunderstorm forced him to keep still, the pressure built up, outside and in him, to the point of unbearable, the brink of scream... The weight shifted, lifted: It stopped raining. Then, 'the calm after the storm'. He had to plug the emptiness in his ears. He spoke loudly, as though in order to be heard above the silence of a library.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

He squinted through the keyhole, and within
Surveyed an act of love that frank as air
He was too ugly for, or could not dare,
Or at a crucial moment thought a sin.

A seperate place between thought and felt
The emply hotel corridor was dark.
But here the keyhole shone, a meaning spark
What fires were latent in it! So he knelt

9:55 pm  

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