No Sudden Moves: Prose Poem
Saturday Poetry Prompt: take it from me…
The shadows on the yellow laminate floor
are brittle
are the type to be wrapped in large, larger towels, to be transposed into the next story
with — no sudden moves —
don’t break
the dark splotches on the grey brown blue white checkered part — the sand and outside in
the rooms now, in the beds now
and I don’t know what my head is supposed to be doing, so it follows these tracks, these —
slow investigations into the basic
matter of the dark — yes, this fascinates me, no, I don’t think of myself as a creature of light
though I work in the daylight
hours now and come forward in time through the kilometers and kilometers that have stopped
rolling against the green ocean now
the green
dashing against the deep brown of the hills — I see a volcano
holding up the horizon
where there is none, though there were earthquakes down around here not so very long ago
