Confessional

Write chunks of white poetry on black night.
Your poetry may be of your narcissistic self

Morbidly touching the way pipal tree waves
In the darkness, a schoolgirl laughs in sleep

Below basement, between pictures of gods.
Poetry is confessional, with redness in face

Looking into crevices to let things not sleep.
And sleep alone will deliver up a confession

As you turn to your side to face a blank wall
Where beginning & middle are not pictured

And the end turns out to be a breath, a lack,
An endless dark wall stretching to empty sky.