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everything in between too
Folder:
Main these modern ears, your words about ancient things
when you throw in the word stenographer, my mind
comes to a lurching stop
I guess you noticed as you stopped as well, what?
stenographer?
yes, what?
yes, what?
[the rest was struck from the record]
until this suspicion bears fruit I'll keep you
at alms breach (the bastille he wagered)
and lost somehow the resemblance uncanny
so said his granny
a lola and tranny
akbar unheeded
the rebels retreated
to a point beyond the rhyming zone, where
your story spoke itself out.
like a wake all fine again
a sleep that befell you
but not at all and all come tumbling down
at your mind's eyelet, a camel, through
Oh thats rich! she mumbled under someone's breath, maybe hers.
the sky only shrugged because of atlas
and something about some missing apples
or because one was golden,
at a wedding, superfluous and yet not.
Oh my folly! What I thought a title was the author's name.
Glad to know it though because right here
right now, this interplay between you
the reader
and me
the writer
contains everything
all of it
your ideas of infinitely falling
of you being where you are and no where else
or your idea of me not being here
hiding behind these words
these letters
simple marks on the page or screen
how could I be behind them?
there is no place to hide.
unless,
in between is filled with spaces
spaces pregnant with
possibility, emptiness, wholeness
nothing.
and again everything,
me infinitely rising,
of mine of me behind you
don't look so fast
break your neck or the sound barrier
that not a choice
but the choice MUST be included
or my argument springs a leak
well sure, throw the leaks in as well.
pile them up neatly or not
next to your smiles, tears and sangfroid.
where that came from, I don't know.
