Member 42
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2007


The screen is plain and white
Like snow, like the frostbite!
That lingers . . .
Up and down my cold fingers

The moon is round and whole
It's perfect, complete
Unlike my hollow soul and my unsteady.

The landscapes rumble and roll!
They slide and glide around
They fumble with their gravity
The rumble up and down!

A storm approaches this town
A storm approaches you
The unholy addition,
Member - 42.