site contents       essays       stories       flash fiction       poems       novels

night poem by Hugh Cook of zenvirus.com

Tellos

It is the last hour before
The body's failure will swamp
The struggling mind in dreaming sleep;
And a dull fly, a single one
Of daylight's swarming insect drift,
Swats the silence across the ceiling
As it blats and bumbles into a personal oblivion.
You might almost think
The seas of Tellos froze.

Copyright © 1975, 2004 Hugh Cook

site contents       essays       stories       flash fiction       poems       novels