On the snow-white pages

Fingers bleed with cold,

Frozen in the ages,

Struggling to take hold


Of worlds whited-out

By the stage’s silent throats,

Paralyzed by doubt

And disappearing notes,


Picks scratching in the night

Of a chasm’s hieroglyphics,

Suspended thinly on the height

Of illusory specifics


Left behind like skins

To illuminate the keys

With discarded fashions

And long-dead galaxies.


June 20th, 2004

12:06 PM - 12:51 PM