Poem: Blank Window

 

Blank Window

 

townsfolk 

pass through the crosshairs,

a fourfold of panes which form a cross,

delicate thin white bones.

 

marble on a grave

couldn't be this devoid.

a surface that cries and yet 

too smooth to have a throat.

 

therefore silent.

inky yet wordless.  

no sense in such watery evasion,

scared as a cuttlefish.

soundless.

 

the townsfolk keep on and on,

walking through the crosshairs,

over and over,

halloaing and halloaing.

 

they seem flexible as zeros:

smiley in the center of the squares,

but so different in the corners,

hints of the morose.

=============

8/39/25 ... mods mods mods... so embarrassing

2/24/24 ... changed a word

1/28/24 ... more mods

1/1/24  "the morose" replaces "morose"

12/23/23 ... removed "maybe" before "marble ..." 

We should be kind.  But half as kind as we are now, for it fosters complacency, and twice as alert to the danger of the fascism that is about to take over.  Unless people stop using a kindness mask to hide.