Thursday, 26 July 2007

• a rather sophomoric poem

  About a girl who has a peculiar relationship with punctuation:
  
  
  The ampersands make a nest for her to sleep in;
  An exclamation mark stands guard.
  If the morning is chilly, a parenthesis will do for a cloak.
  
  Commas fly like sparks where her feet strike the page
  And she passes through the eye of a colon
  Like a doorway.
  
  The fearsome question marks do not dismay her
  With their talons, nor do perilous toppling slashes,
  But a miniscule period, rolling into her path, will stop her dead.

  • 10:15 PM
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