Saturday, November 13, 2010


Frames of fiction fall oft an inch or two short,

an empty pane having to cede and pander to reality.

Authorial fingerprints smudge the written word,

sentences are collapsing bridges requiring columns of real meaning to hold them up.

Paws of memories advance through the fictional realm,

shuffling over the blind spots, the present fudged

by what is not.


Donna Hole said...


I don't read poetry normally; but this was interesting.

I enjoyed it.


Vivek said...

Thank you :)

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