Thoughts on the Third Floor

 

Striking the keys in my notebook

I think about the syntax of my unfinished paragraph.

Research is locked inside my vault, and won’t commit itself
to paper. As I take a

breath of fresh, recycled library air, I lift my eyes beyond
my computer screen,

past the orange chair to my right

out of the long picture window, above the valley but below
the sun.

 

 The moisture in the air mixed with orange hues of light

 looks like me—it seems to hold thoughts of its own; thoughts
made of water that

resist the ground (but who could blame them?).

On the other hand, my pages need filling and we need the
water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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allets's picture

Incredible Poem

Thoroughly enjoyed reading. - allets-

 



Onyamaichi