Monday, March 26, 2012

Anna Karenina

A crystalline anticipation:


The dewy days when I was nothing and yet to be everything;

Hopeful as a breath to be exhaled into a promise

Delicate and transparent, missing

Nothing.


A shifting exaggeration:

The unknown days when I was no thing to be everything;

Slip'ry shale that crumbled into dusty blood and bone

Careening into angst, believing

Everything.


An ill-considered humiliation:

The frigid days when I was nothing and, yet, to be everything

To then exhale cold breath translucent on a sullied pane,

A clear, unalterable prism

A rigid penitentiary.




























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