Post by Cy Skywalker on Jun 8, 2007 19:24:37 GMT -5
and then i wonder--
experience is
across the gulf of
time or sand and
waiting there is
a penultimate pronoun
thinking rash thoughts
about language and probability--
*
beauty in the eye of the disclosure.
*
Inside the steampunk
isles of the mind
(or just another metaphor)
turn terrible cogs of oneness.
The gear called Fidelity
(is called other things by others)
has stripped from its compatriot
a skein of paint.
And in the meantime
no Watchers see, no
lightboards flare--
only--
but I have absolved to resist.
*
I’m taking away
all the pronoun hes which
splatter my poetry with paint
stinging under the faceplate of
stoic realism--
or is it escapism.
*
open up, lay line to
something,
blanketed in imagery never seen by
eyes of--
lets pick silver for this line.
*
is this free association
or shackled after all?
