Thursday, August 2, 2012


Angled elsewhere
Flighty discrepancies dance
Thinner and thinner
A tear is now inevitable.
The underbelly of all I've protected is
Touched, so much touched; paper fingers...
Leading nowhere.
Spinal cords writhing in panic
Hoping to bend in time to make contact
With the 'nothing' that lies gently just out of reach.
Smooth red sinew, unbroken lines;

Enough of questions that seek answers
There is no rhythmic union to be found
Only more assumptions of what may come,
Of yesterday, tomorrow and three Summers from my 40th.
What purpose can be felt in such dealings?
The heart pumps for today
Blood flows through each articulated moment
Indifferent to this mind
Could these patterns be seen more properly
In inappropriate light?
Would then the meaning of these days, suffice?

This is madness, to question the questions.
Or is it? How many levels must be travelled
In the revelation of who we may be?
I am touching what my mind feels
Drawing what hands wish to mold.
Calculation of felt emotions turn to amatorial bliss
Like math, equations become algebraic.
Is there relevance in the circumference of my needs,
Divided by Pi?

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