"Here in the United States, we speak with reverence of authentic experience. We write poems about our daddies taking us fishing and breaking our hearts by making us throw the little fish back into the river. We even tell the reader the kind of car we were driving, the year and the model, to give the impression that it’s all true. It’s because we think of ourselves as journalists of a kind. Like them, we’ll go anywhere for a story. Don’t believe a word of it. As any poet can tell you, one often sees better with eyes closed than with eyes wide open." — Charles Simic
In the darkness of my mind
it's cobwebbed cold
strings flap in the current
that blows grease are frozen
in flight and still against the hope
that dawn brings a thaw
and wisps of interest that is lacking
as the stars are silent
© 2011 - Michael A. Wells
Closing your eyes... what do you see?
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