Tagged: Anne F.

WEDNESDAY: Whitewashing the Ceaseless Mull

BY ANNE F. WALKER

Copyright is held by the author.

Telephone blossoms
through sleep like piling stalagmites
of ice outside on the fire escape grate. The noise
too thick red and flowering
for the black plastic box.

Sometimes I hunger for not hearing
anything, except what comes from outside;
these creaking walls, traffic and melting ice
(there is an eternal stillness closing forever inward).

Voices branch against a setting sky.