again
it might be night
& it is
drunk here
in this room
too small to contain
my loneliness
mind gray
& vacant
searching the solitude
for clues
that might unlock
this chinese
fucking puzzle box
slow movement forward
through another day
nothing left to say
that doesn’t sound
like nonsense
quiet anguish
as my imaginary
rushmore crumbles
& falls away
replaying
your phone message
but i don’t hear
what you say
only the noise
of your voice—
how long
has this dust
been descending
puzzle box by DB Cox
August 17, 2009 by Scot
wow what a remarkable flow of despondency.
it’s just a great wave of a poem that connects
all pieces together. thanks…
Fine poem, my friend.
Huge fan of your work, DB.
“as my imaginary
rushmore crumbles
& falls away”
Great imagery.
Joie, Thanks for taking the time to read and make a lucid comment.
Carter, always nice to get a response from someone I respect & admire. Thanks