This nothingness that feeds upon itself: <br />Pencils that turn to water in the hand, <br />Parts of a sentence, hanging in the air, <br />Thoughts breaking in the mind like glass, <br />Blank sheets of paper that reflect the world <br />Whitened the world that I was silenced by. <br /> <br />There were two years of that. Slowly, <br />Whatever splits, dissevers, cuts, cracks, ravels, or divides <br />To bring me to that diet of corrosion, burned <br />And flickered to its terminal.-Now in an older hand <br />I write my name. Now with a voice grown unfamiliar, <br />I speak to silences of altered rooms, <br />Shaken by knowledge of recurrence and return.<br /><br />Weldon Kees<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/covering-two-years-2/
