Wednesday, January 9, 2008

21. Wasting Time

Finger bones scratching, drawn
across the flat stones,
fall upon the black stones (black stones)

Nite is close, whispers to the fog
Sweep, sweep, sweep,
I cannot sleep, sleep, sleep.

1 comment:

Françoise de Fleur said...

I like how quiet this is... All you can hear is the scratching. (But not in that creepy horror movie way.)