End of Day

My mind shuts down
Of its own accord
My eyes too.
The pen still scratches.

1.0AM
Must write.
Get it down,
Get it out.
The mind shuts down
Spills out the reels
Of shot film
From behind the eyes.
The dark room
Fills with today’s rushes.

Tomorrow it will all
Be cut and dried
Preserved, edited.
Tonight, today’s memories
Are tangled threads
Of imaginary celluloid
Spilt on paper
And they can be anything.

: 25 Nov 2005 10:28 |  Tags: Poetry Writings |  Comments (3) |  Report a problem