Poem: Black

H. Kris Thomas
Black as night
And the ink that I write into my world
Black as cold hearts
And the hair atop the heads of
Dark-skinned persons
Black as that

Black as the binding that holds the pages of my universe
A messy book with fallen out pages
And taped together inserts
Scattered with scribbled notes
And colorful reminders
To add a little shine to my everyday

It is dark in there
A black night in there
In the peculiar hole in my insides
The hole burrowed into the soft meat
The smooth muscle
That raps on my ribs and dances
In my throat

Peculiar holes
I find them all the time
I used to fill them up after
Scraping out the old nothings, making room
For elusive perfection and complex, short-lived excitement
But now, in this brand new moment
I am learning to just let them be

Published by H. Kris Thomas

So Cal resident writing poetry and other things...but mostly poetry.  View profile

9 Comments

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  • Nina Marshall7/21/2010

    You are a gifted poetess.

  • Abby Greenhill6/28/2010

    Beautiful poetry.

  • Mike Powers6/24/2010

    Fantastic poetry, once again. Thank you!

  • Dawn Fisher6/23/2010

    Sometimes it is better to just those peculiar holes alone and see what grows. Thought provoking.

  • Deb Martin-Webster6/23/2010

    Beautifully expressed!! I like this one a lot!

  • David Lanier6/22/2010

    Awesome!.... :)

  • Kristen Wilkerson6/22/2010

    Excellent job once again!

  • Oscar Crawford6/22/2010

    You are so alive with expression that tastes good!

  • Delicia Powers6/22/2010

    We receive such clear pieces of you in your poems, I almost feel that they are living things.

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