Litkicks Message Board Archive

glazed eyes

Posted to Action Poetry

you never open the book.

your hands are not the weilder,
its flipped to the page
that you always used to hate
but now, oh now

you've gotta take
it all. it's not you
who turns the page.

but we're all
scribbling in the margins.
and we'll weave our own story
within the bounds
of predestination

just go.

and we'll find
a blank page
(oh, that is our place)