Exangel

by Amber Koneval.

 

It is much easier

to write on walls

than it is to write

on paper.

 

Walls erode, worn down to polished

pebbles, smoothed out of all

midnight-made notches

splashing away lines of chalk

and flaking paint

as seasons

and hearts

change.

 

On walls, the words are

large enough

that they pass for landscape

hills of barren slopes, the best to

scream upon deaf ears

and feel satisfied

 

Walls can give firm footing

can be blasted apart and built

into a home and

forgotten

 

 

but paper is meant to be

swallowed

shredded in the esophagus

and absorbed.

 

Paper sticks.

 

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