Flipping through a newspaper is like a world
in a still shot of words. A night sky of falling stars
against the backdrop of inkblots and faded graphite.
Filling out the whiteness of pages parched with yesterday
scenes captured and distilled in silence. Here, where
its blackness became a cure to this ennui. A distraction.
A flotsam of unhappy events, of somebody’s tale.
The never-ending saga of tragedies and its epic struggle
to survive. Looking for signs, of parallelisms
which might ephemerally keep that connection.
While tomorrow is another news rolling off the press
harping that life will still stay relevant. Each day.
Solitude Amidst the Maddening Crowd
