Tuesday, October 31, 2006



The phone rang.

All of this happened in the space
between two seconds ticking on a clock.

But none of it was real.

There was a subject, an object,
and a verb, but they refused
any normal arrangements.

Rather, they played marbles
with the child who comes and goes
and looks at me with pity in his eyes.

It was raining. My hair was wet
and dripping on the floor.

I stood there smiling, unclear
what my name might be,
happy to live in that void.

But none of it was real.

The normal flow of seconds resumed,
I shook the feeling with a shiver
and the phone rang again.


Candy Minx said...

Hey how are you!? Very nice poem...I like how the movement if the world is recorded and inter-assocated with marbles, rain drops, flow of time. Nice work. Did you write this? Cool.

william harryman said...

I'm good.

Glad you like. Yeah, it's mine. Unless otherwise attributed (usually in the post title), all the poetry here is mine.

I used to be quite good at this stuff once, a long time ago. Just recently started writing again -- still trying to find my voice and rhythm.

Thanks for stopping by.