Words As Excavation Tools - Poem by RIC BASTASA

the blades of the electric fan
are making the usual noise in a very warm room
where air is nil
where loneliness reigns like a queen
of sorrow

its chatter seeps in the green curtains by the window
where a bowl lies there empty because the gold fish died
because a cat hit it with its paw but did not eat it
and it lays wasted on the floor

it is noisy
gyrating like a body
it is boring a hole in my
but actually i do not mind it anymore

my noise is louder
and i am trying to figure out what it is really
by writing about it

are words tools of excavation
can it exhume a dead idea buried a long time ago
because it has been painful?

Comments about Words As Excavation Tools by RIC BASTASA

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Monday, February 4, 2013

Poem Edited: Monday, February 4, 2013

[Report Error]