metaphor

September 10, 2008 at 7:37 pm (poem)

on touch the paper feels
empty as if
the words and ink had
drained away into
the cracks which spawned
them and the paper’s draught seems
to spead out to
my touching hand and into
mind’s fissures that feel so
sealed and what remains is
a real draught the
dry emptiness and waiting
for rain

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