THE VOID
It isn’t that it’s dark.
It’s not that it’s big.
It’s the indigo in it
that sticks like a bitch.
The brutal fact is
it’s smaller than a fist.
Lighter than a chore.
It has no core.
The thing just is.
It’s bonafide.
This doesn’t mean
your hands are tied.
Declare yourself
a private war. Sing
to it. Fall in love with it.
Beat it with a stick.
Throw open every door.
It might stick less.
It might stick
more.
—from Rattle #31, Summer 2009
__________
Wendy Videlock: “I live on the Western Slope of the Colorado Rockies, where I am frequently assaulted by poems.” (website)