Wednesday, July 16, 2014


Your words in complete sentences,
making sense with verb, noun, adjective,
march like tiny soldiers across my brain,
drumming in a heartbeat of anguish,
 anger, attraction, appeal.

They bewitch my brain
and I create conversations
from the littered clothes,
fallen from closet hangers
in my bedroom.

Loneliness is imaginary conversations.

It brings to mind the Super Moon
outside my window tonight,
shining through the lattice blinds
with a heavy glow.
Unbelievable and unreal
in its weight in the night sky.
The causation of cadence.
Language beats upon the strand,
dragging words out to sea
and back again.

My existential Dover Beach.

I am bothered
by the scabrous jolt
of your emails,
The lines of practise
are tiny swords
piercing my frontal lobe.

I want.  What I can't have.

I am bewildered.
Your words are seduction,
juicy and trembling on my tongue.
I wrap myself in their silky strands.
I am plaited in the paragraphs,
roped to the pages of your text.

You stab me with your periods.

I'll take your words,
those deleterious words,
and hang them
with semi-colons from my ears.
The colon will be the needle
through my nose.

Seduce me with your words, and I will follow them across the pages.

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