Not A Poem

The snow covers everything 
for a brief moment
it is silent.  Complete.  

Then cars intrude
thoughts intrude
life intrudes 
the silence is lost.  Gone.

This is not a poem.  I want to settle into the white spaces but the letters are necessary because, ya know, writing.  I want to settle into the white space but without the noise, there is nothing and then there is no purpose.  I want to settle into the white space and rest, completely, without intrusion and purpose and reverberations.  This is not a poem.  This is writing gone awry. 

Today feels like white space.
Blank space.  
Silence before the world takes it away.

The distance between two points
(usually) full of resting places  
park benches to sit upon 
just to not be moving

But this distance is more of an abyss. 
It is no park.  And if there was, the snow would cover everything.   

And the snow does cover everything 
for more than a brief moment
it is silent.  Complete.  


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