his thought is the word prepared & interrupted
accumulated from a lifetime of self-silencings
spiraling cycles lifted into squirming creatures
he knew himself no more alive nor dead than these
those searchings for possibilities unhaltingly
gaffes turned gifts by love’s gymnasticking
milkwơrming majesties & buttered up happenings
before he knew it, man spoke like machina
what happened to the best of these?
and what happened to me?
hearts surviving the confusion by hardening
wrong way signs he’s sure they were never meant to see
when all they needed:
more wiggle room
more maybe
more time
more what do you mean?
more glistening
in the beauty of their own
mystery.
-nobody
