white.

If I were a blank piece of paper,



I wonder if I would want words to be written on me.


somebody else’s thoughts scattered about the place
forcing me to look at the black bits of my world instead of the  white  white

If I were a blank piece of paper,
I wonder if I would write poems on myself.
down my arms and across my belly
with intricate pauses at my fingertips

who knows?

tattoos for the showy, tattoos for the show.
I wonder who if anyone could clean them up for me
and remove them when the show was over
and I wanted to have a family
of blank but not empty pages who would
tattoo themselves or fold themselves into swans
or airplanes and fly fly lfy ylf awa y

to some place where some one would wonder :

If I were a blank black sky,
Would I want to be flecked with little bits of white
like shooting stars falling swans throwing poems at airplanes
all night until the fragrant sun-rose?
I mean then no one would ever look at me.


Actually, that might be nice.  Might be.