Through my headphones, the sticks are clacking
against a metal rim. Above,
the black and white clock tries to measure
a thing which cannot be measured;
and the pull-cords of a fan, tap together
under the apathetic blade spin.
Through the window,
the smoking man’s dog’s tail
wags like a retarded metronome;
patio blinds sway as a perturbed pendulum;
eyes cast glances but nothing gets seen.
All content ©Dario DiBattista 2011. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.
Each read paints a tighter picture. Then, I'm there. Way to go Dario
ReplyDeleteso, that's what it's like? have you read any graham greene? sure, there're plenty of english poets you could look at. but some of the war-time (I & II) novelists capture the feeling much better, i think. or even films like the thin red line. so few poems (i can't think of any) really capture that anxious feeling of not knowing what could happen before a battle.
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