A Disquiet
The air is disquiet,
and I’m cut short
by my own apostrophes.
It’s a temper
of my own making.
Pages torn,
words ripped,
drawn, quartered and
dying, and rising like
saints toward heaven.
My head is full
of their noise.
For Twiglet #62 “Air Full of Sound” Image is from Unsplash.
YES. Love this.
I’m cut short
by my own apostrophes.
Possessives…the things we own, the things we think we own…the things we year to own…the people we allow to own us. Oh, my.
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This all came about as I attempted to write Monday’s Haibun, and ended up tossing at least a dozen tries into the bin.
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This is poetry itself:
Pages torn,
words ripped,
drawn, quartered and
dying,
Haibun always jacks me up a little. All those rules. I’m a free verse girl, really.
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I love writing haibuns. They empty all the noise from my head. But that hometown prompt did my head in completely. I ended up going with a childhood memory. 😁
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It's Still Life 
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