in today’s society,
it’s hard to tell the
someone talking to themself,
and then find a wire
attached to their caller.
i would travel this Earth,
of all Time to You i will reach
if there be no way to crawl–
may these words, these thoughts, this
bleed upon paper/a sentencing
of unruly/broken sheets sprawled while in
quiet beg of You: Queen, Angel, Princess,
Smile: Your response in silence to
a taking-breath pull of Gravity, mine: You.
the focus of your photograph leaves you shaking, breaking laugh for cry of body/of clutch of me for knöw’ i’m here– could you see me, would you stare in ‘turn so shaking is seen not by me, but with you?
once, far from here, an angel knew
her way to waker’s dreams–
or were they photographs?–
or were they lost in determination?–
either the way, she, in me, was held
without hands nor mind, but in suspension
‘wixt lips’ limits, wide in silent breathe of her,
this, the only angel willed to walk ‘spite her wings,
those risen or drift-in wind cumbersome things
we are as the shadow is:
a reflection/sign/symbol of something
with word wound tight to thought/
time is but a calendar,
a marking of what is, for
without such limits, how quickened would the
i deserve all which forefollows me.