what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

 

While I slept it was all over,
Everything. My eyes, squashed white,
Flowed off toward dawn.

There was a noise,
Which, like all else, spread and disappeared:
There’s nothing worth seeing, listening for.

When I woke, everything seemed cut off.
I was a pipe, still smoking,
Which daylight would knock empty once again.

 

"The Pipe"

Shinkichi Takahashi

 

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1 Comment

pidlerwater said...

"The Pipe" was written 100 years ago. but it still speaks to me at 4:44am Monday through Friday

Posted June 3, 2025 05:51 PM | Reply to this comment

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