a whisper sourceless
practically nothing
eyes like steel lowered
like your own aware
of someone the window
before you open
breathe you know to it
occurs to you
your imagination is not
what is there speaking
in the darkness
© 2013 Maureen E. Doallas
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This "found poem" is crafted from words in the text of the final pages of David Foster Wallace's The Pale King (Back Bay Books, Reprint Edition, 2012).
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7 comments:
This is one beautiful poem.
wonderful Maureen... I love the flow of this poem and the care in word placement... just beautiful.
Lovely piece, just lovely.
I love the interpretations culled to form a found poem, and this one delivers nicely! Well crafted, Maureen!
Born of the instincts of the poet, acute they are and painted of a brush in master strokes.
I think your imagination must be at work without respite. A fine quality, I think. Maybe one of the best.
Cheers!
Wow! you put into words something I often experience but cannot provide adequate words to imply it's existence...
Wow! Your words take me to a place that I often visit..But cannot adequately place in words. :)
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