“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
Data and Dust
Be real.
Do you see yourself-
or is that too close to
the source
of your own breath, body
and a-scent
afloat
and uncontainable-
Yet you try.
What do you mean
by that, when you say
portrayal in lieu of betrayal?
Whose idea was it?
Could we share this notion
like an opinion?
Whose line is this one
with no name before the semi-
colon?
This audience participates
and encourages
the foot-notations.
Closed quotes leave no
space for interpretation.
Where have all the dial tones gone?
Open lines have all been taken
for granted.
If we pretend we appreciate
the little things,
will all the bigs things
call our bluff for the
precarious positions
we attempt to balance
all our collected hopes
upon and continuously
adjust our appearance for
others real life,
meanwhile,
erosion is always itself,
revealing.
Painting by Odilon Redon, c. 1696 [Public domain].
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...
No comments:
Post a Comment