Wed, 07 Jan 2004



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eventually, it's all a game shuffling numbers through gates and pulses of lightning through arborized tangles

just for the sound of it the way the tongue slides, curves and flexes the throat rattles, hums, thrums

sing a song of sixpence, pocket full of rye

this dizzy dance of meaning and sound separating then in close embrace meaning flirts with the silly sing-song noises teases, leaving to the imagination escapes the ballroom at midnight, leaving behind only a glass slipper an idea the words crowd around, trying to see if it fits barely avoiding shattering it in tiny sharp shards meaning's fragrance lingers, the memories fading only the transient joy, when I held you in my arms takes root in the mind idee fixee

like a stray electric current causing an errant magnetic field everything swirls and spins around it circling the drain toilet bowl flushing vital fluids fleeing the body prepare to evacuate the light at the end of the tunnel beckons

sometimes all it takes is an electric shock a veritable bolt of lightning to realize that it's all in your mind to realize that no matter what you do in the world or what it does to you everything that is, as far as you're concerned lies painted in impressionistic strokes across a canvas of convoluted, grey goo lurking somewhere behind your eyes

11:36:09 7 Jan 2004 > /poetry > permalink > 0 comments


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