Tuesday, February 20, 2007
dread
this
string, this
thing it
thinks. it sings. it sighs,
unwinds
and whines and wines and wiles and
whilst i tread
this thread, and line,
aligns a sign. i mind.
i see a pain i've seen
before, foresee, foresaw
a little more
heartache to take this plate
is caked, is baked, is flaked,
will break? is traced
is laced
defaced
with joints
at points and pressure
will measure the
cracks and the fissures the
wrack on this treasure the
wreck of this pleasure
will become one
stump. i slump
onto the edge, a lump
in my mouth
the spindle spins south
is time running out? it runs
like it's spun, like it's fun,
like it's come? now
it's gone. for long? i'm
forlorn, i'm fallen, i've fallen on
the line, half-line, sub-line, sublime?
crying, crying
trying
tying up? drying up. hurrying
up
up
up above the curtain lying
in dread
lying dead? a threat?
i tread. i tread.
i thread a
thread, a string, a thing. i think?
i line a line, align a sign:
the fissures are fine.
i mind. they're
mine.
des
2/20/2007 01:52:00 AM
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