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Poetry: William Ricci


Fracture 9 - Silence 

A single hair




Watching in the mirror. 

Held breath, swings

slightly alone not

disturbing others that


The mirror now clear,

only a face in white robe.

The terrycloth collar soft

on the graying beard. 

Black rope necklace sags

between breast bones,

the dog tags smooth and tarnished,

the name fading.


Fracture 8 – Fractured Mind 


In a dream

      splattered black on white

the soiled snow just fallen

      covering the fields

putting to sleep the gray big bluestem. 

          What is a dream? 

The moments already lived,



      a preview of moments,

an existence already set to paper

your blood born and dissipated. 

Entering the wood-floored room

      mauve drapes slightly cover

            mahogany trimmed windows,

      the polished brass door handles. 

Windows ajar allow the lilacs to enter,

the cool wind cleansing, discarding the memory,

the memory seared, the memory of what? 

White petals fall from the sky

drifting upon the winds’ hands. 

Over time the memory is forgotten

and the dark corner of the mind starts anew. 

Over time the white petals will

put to sleep what we forget 

and no one else will know. 


in the name of… 

the tapestries swirl

as the wind howls 

eyes closed the cross-legged

being does not move. 

the tall red oak door on

antique brass hinges slams shut. 

white paper with black ink

scatter from the desk. 

stained pine bookshelves line two walls

from floor to ceiling. 

the wind reaches each corner

underneath the shelves

through the books

and each cover opens

the paper flutters and

each word, each letter

upon each page spills onto

the floor, swirling into a

circle surrounding the being

and they rise encasing the being

within chaotic structures and thoughts

and with the wave of a hand the movement


the being turns slowly

in every direction, appearing to analyze

the letters and the pattern within which they stopped. 

the tiger-wood floor begins to vibrate

light emerges from between the planks. 

stillness returns as light replaces wood

and the being is floating upon light. 

in a blur delicate fingers from elongated arms

point at letters dragging them to an empty space 

words  begin to form into paragraphs and pages

and at last the book of Nothing is created.


All rights reserved to William Ricci

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