Wednesday, April 11, 2012


The point of your pen, removed from the page, 
now all smoothness and white,
where there should have been, could have been 
lines and more lines, lines that cascaded into stanzas,
and stanzas that leaped and stood tall
on the shoulders of stanzas before,
till we stood touching the shivering bones of stars

We could have been, we should have been
an epic poem, one would have to climb
the blocks of our stanzas to truly understand us
But now my body is a cross that lies down across
empty spaces, empty pages
that could have been,that should have been