Description: a phonecall.
and surfing out at muriwai.
yet again.
go figure.
Unfinished, if ever -------------------------------------------
Night
scaffolds what joy
I borrowed from the sun
earlier,
hearing your voice
after weekends meant
to forget you:
You, and how deliverance
is a muted syllable
in one of Neruda's
poems.
I have a certain reserved love for short little poems like this. They are exactly what they are and don't give much pretense.
Sadly, a lot of people seem to think this type of writing doesn't count for much. The title does leave me a little curious...indulge me with an explanation? Because the poem feels finished to me...
It would seem to trends have shifted while I was not getting on, simple is in. I like it. Using the weekends to forget what cannot be forgotten is pretty common practice. This appears to be simple and indifferent on the surface, but I read it as possibly one of your most depressing works I have read to date.
Submission Name: Unfinished, if ever
