“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, August 21, 2015
The early bird on the horizon line
A line
is thrown out...there
A line is
connection of the dots
summarized by stretching spheres
lined up
like ducks
cluck clucking
in a row
Row,
row your boat by
parallel plotter
navigating the stream
Tow the line
holding by a lifeline
hiking the EKG
Wait
in line
wait for it
carried down the line
a vibration
a sensation
The Ripple-
-r-i-p-p-l-e-
effect
a lure lingers on the line
barbed edges await
an inevitable lineal fate
a direction
to take
to make
out side the lines
a circle of infinity
keeps out
traps in, depending on where you begin
a snap is shot,
tracing the trajectory
tightening the arrow
in array
A line
a single point of origin
genetically tangled
entwined in limpid lineage
by dates and fates
times arrow
on a string
A line we follow to the T
A line we cannot see
A line we fall for
hook
line
and
sinker
The line is cast
we are the worm.
Image by William Blake [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, from Jerusalem-Plate 78.
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