Parallel Lines
Posted: February 24, 2010 Filed under: Poetry | Tags: parallel lines, Poetry, W.B. Hurst, William Hurst Leave a commentSign language, the billboard
of earth gods: skulls on a
shaman stick. Oil and water
in a decanter, room temper-
ature, releasing fumes
until it can be swa-
llowed. Beaks through egg-
shell white huts, pulling
the outside in and folding
it, a metal chair.
It lies on the ditch without
a bridge or bottom.
Sorry for the long break from posting, guys. Reading Lacan takes energy.
This poem came out of a pretty agoraphobic experience, where a lot of existential problems emerged at once. Hope you enjoyed it!