Wednesday, October 02, 2002

A Pose
poetry in prose

black on black they wrote the words - some darker grey, some barely showing, black on black was his instruction for rebel words and new distinctions, and black on black dutifully scribbled by tiny minions of the master, tragic fiction, graphic bloodshed... "fight the good fight," wrote one student, then went home and took a nap, they never lived the stories written in two acts and on black paper. Soon they're stained with ink and marker, stuttered stories, they're exhausted they're triumphant, pleased to please not to persever. I'm still writing as they're joyful, by the window with the moon among the redwoods in a cottage by the lakeside, as they scorn me, as i'm writing, and the stories tell of them of a cottage and the moonlight by the lake between two mountains, they are monkeys in the darkness writing Hamlet in two acts - they are minions in my fiction, they are sheep in black on black.

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