Empty, too

Empty table, blocked entry to the tower of babel Empty chairs, silent interrogation from vacant stares Empty plate, I scrape the fork to stay awake Empty wall, save shoulder-shaking, shadow shawls Empty room, though scent of stalking nightmares loom Empty breath, no sound to suffer or oxygen left Empty chest, no spirit haunt, or ghost

Empty

A candle without wick Or wax An artist without hue Or muse I’m too empty to do either On my emptiness art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński *05.02.20.16.04