Monday, May 23, 2011


I see you on a swing in a doorway
between two failing timbers,

caught by an echo
in the black night beyond.


erin said...

oh my, this is not good. this is not good. pump harder, anonymous, swing into the future, well beyond the grip of the past. (but then, one of those timbers is the past.)


manik sharma said...

The anticlimax that the last weekend proved to be would be synonymous what bad sounding echos are like..the ones you don't want to is life's tragedy that we sometimes consider life itself to be a tragedy(why are happiness and sorrow the two mere objectives of such a spectacle)..coming back to your post here...

i lay with my head lying between the railway tracks..
they speak of echos from last night
the shudder is a vein..crushed among other sounds...the flight of a dying eagle across the moon..the shadows of the anonymous in our pictures...

William Michaelian said...

Erin and Manik,

I’m intrigued by your responses and delighted that this poem has elicited them. I would, if I could, make them all doorways, while, like the swinger in and the speaker of these lines, remaining anonymous.