snapshot poem 07 november 02007

the string has broken
i pick up the beads
of my life

they are dissonant
discordant
there is no harmony here

was there ever a pattern?
some have fallen
into the grate

i'll never retrieve them
they are rolling down
a long culvert

it is dark here, unnavigable
i am lost
listen, the beads are rattling

pick up this one, this one
place them on the paper
one, then another.  another.

these words on this page.
one, then another.  another.
was there ever a pattern?

these poems fall through
the grate, they roll down
a long culvert

they rattle against the dark