boxes of words

somewhere
quicksand headfirst went I
anything, I’d offer up
myself
to dwell in my dark, sticky, shadowed corner
thin shards of light slipping the cracked walls
forgotten tavern
my place
rank humid paper, pen scratching
arrangements
laying into pulp flesh
echoes around strangers
passing through
tipping hats and money, conversing, suggesting, kissing, hiding
away
life going by the window on the 8 PM train
vacant eyes, weighted hearts
grabbing my free hand
I am alone
I am alone
no electric lights
satellites, a galaxy far, far away
no tiny faces in circles or squares
I’m interested in knotting
tempestuous nets
catching dry fish and wet spirits
what matters? asks the man sitting across from me
or is he a woman tapping long, seductive fingers on the marred wood
too dark and the voice too low because I chose it
what matters?
not answering
not answering
boxes of words at my feet
none of them comforting
what matters?

someone
another stranger has arrived
to plug in my room

MeAnn der Ingline

MeAnn der Ingline


sketched this a few months back

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10 thoughts on “boxes of words

  1. beautiful work AnnMarie. How was your day. I walked down got a gf burger and a coffee coolata with whipped cream on top not great for my diet but hey once in a while. My dad called me at the coffee shop saying it was 98 degrees too hot to be walking in so he picked me up went home watching Scream now gonna do some writing later. Selling Dynasty seasons on ebay I can get them from library i am hard up for cash. AnnMarie=Number One! Woo hoo!

    Like

  2. The image says it all. The vacant eyes of “what matters?” I’ve noticed since I’ve moved to the city, my soul experiences more of these.

    Like

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