Monday, June 27, 2011

Pulp Poem of the Week

It was like being in a room
with no windows or doors.
You kept running against the walls,
slamming into them.
You knew there was no way out.
But back in your mind,
something told you
there had to be a way out.
So you rammed, and rammed,
smashing against those walls.
You’d reel around and try again.
Something had to give—
either one of the walls,
or you.
Gil Brewer
The Three-Way Split

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