a literary journal

POETRY

Annotation


 

There’s a small scratch 

in the margin – 



nothing profuse,

but the warbling 


of some eager

hand, too quick; 


thick marks give

to graphite flecks 


that stop – 

reducing to nought – 


then a fuzz doubles back 

and shrouds the script,


the thought now lost 

in the flick of the wrist.


Harry CatonGuest User