Tuesday, February 08, 2011


A writer's words are preciously precocious.
It is hard to choose one over the other-
They can be stubborn,

They can make you laugh, cry
sigh in disbelief.

They can make you rejoice, curse
and beg them to please come from underneath
That place where they hide so well

-That corner of the room between the drapes
and the agape door

where a spinster wielding eight legs
weaves tales of solitude

hoping to catch stranded dreams scurrying blindly
into the arms of the familiar.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

from one mind
so full
of words needing loose

from warmed seats
and finger-tips--
sore yet ignored

from eyes shut
mazed forehead--
delirious? -not

to olu-
keep standing out, friend

(great work! just found your blog...hoping your words will give me some much needed inspiration :)