Empty Words
- Rod Nicolson
- Jan 10, 2019
- 1 min read
They whip and dive and bite
Like gnats. No weight, but flap
Like bats in panicked flight.
Ethereal, of nil, they fill
Each inch of land and air
With unremitting shrill.
The warp and weft of thought,
Discombobulated,
Stretched, then slack, then snapped taught.
Weft warps to twist and thrash,
Warp snaps in fraying scythes
To etch and carve and slash.
And Care unnoticed slips
Into the dark'ning storm,
A child from little ships.
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