Eric Herbert Santana ENN 198
November 26, 2008
Motionless
Free write
the black/white
polka-dotted rock.
More of it is in the air
then on the surface of the earth.
Almost the letter “D” on its side.
The deep, dark, black shadow
underneath it’s curves. Curves
that fight against gravity
as they point away from our planet.
The pressure
on the ground underneath
makes no audible noise
but I wonder
if there really is no sound at all.
Predominantly white splattered in black unnaturally.
The rock is alone,
touched only by air, air
that connects the rock
to its surrounding dirty, paint stained
brick walls.
The heavy,
grey floor
so solid and scarred
keeps this rock from reaching the center of the earth.
How many times has the rock scarred the floor?
The rock, so cold and still,
coming in contact only with air conditioned air
and grey concrete,
battling gravity till the end.
There lurk no other shadows beside the rocks’.
Black malformed spots
on a white, smooth, irregularly formed surface
embedded within a swirl
of red and orange brick,
the camouflage disturbed
by cracks that jut through
like fearless bolts of lightning.
White paint, dry and flaky,
is worn by the wall like badges of honor.
The rock… is it upside down?
Pits of black sunken in
Like a sick twist on a sponge. Sponge turned to stone.
The round smooth surface
Broken
By these overflowing craters of color.
Alone, cold, still, frozen.
Even the blinding light from above
can’t erase the face
of the rock. Sharp air cuts around its curves, protecting the hairless oval shape.