Pen in hand,
I make the dots.
Marking on and on and on...
Music pours in,
Drowns the voices,
Droning on and on and on...
Dots won't do.
The words spill out.
Writing on and on and on...
My words, like dots,
Are different.
Halting on and on and on...
My dots don't work.
Not soft or smooth,
Flowing on and on and on...
Edges rough
Like character,
Reflecting on and on and on...
Smooth up close:
It's all the same.
Stretching on and on and on...
Mirrors the people,
Voices, faces:
On and on and on and on...
The difference is in the dots.

1 Comments:
At January 25, 2006 10:16 PM,
Lauren Mayerle said…
Hmm, I think that this would qualify for Mr. Baxter's poem assignment. Nice.
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