29 Oct 2005, 12:40am
Writing
by David


Monolith

In the tower-room you
could not see your hands.
I could see them for you.

They were white.
They were not
located by your wrists.
They were not old.

Things were starting to
come open for me.
You asked if I could see
the white walls.
I could.

In the book,
the king who banned
boats from his coasts
regretted it.
No one could get in.
The people mutinied,
on both sides.