Tuesday, September 18, 2007

the story

all this story, word by word, breathed out
started in, punctuated in hands gone shaking
commas derelict, periods haphazardly strewn
minor jitterbugs of sics, et als, loopy tries for

illustrated with no. 2's, henna, ungainly pastiche
of upper caps, italicized with fervor, all this story
paragraph by paragraph, set adrift in life raft
fashion, hopes set afloat but not for posterity

what a life, this tale would like to tell, like to
ripen with belief, what a voyage has gone
unnoticed, as you doze amid your pens, holy
oils, tibetan inks, as you bounce your little

what defines the real, a lopsided word, heavy
toward the end, or settles on the shoulder, raucous
as a parrot, sharp beaked, clawed for furious
action, come to steal the mealy tidbits of your

are you sliding, crippled, mesmerized, into
the awful hours, the screaming minutes, into
seconds lost into the night, are you fasting
out of hunger for affection, making pages, making

this life, this story, nothing more than vanilla
than frothy latte, cinnamon sticks standing in
recycled cups, tapped with enya, comforted by
roly buddhas, this tale won't bring you fame

watch my hands and i will sorcel the airs
i will weave the elements, draw on the fire
dowse for waters where we sit, for this is our
mystery, and we're at the edge, whistling into
the abyss


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