this flesh, these bones
speak my manifold ways
in a much more devastating fashion
than my thankless words and hard-hearted commands
and what says the pain of loss?
same, skin and blood and hair all tangled together
like some massive knot that's clotting up a drain-pipe
and so when someone asks why i'm slow to respond
i've nothing to say. words are fruitless to any
purpose or cause i could come up with
manic with waiting
and heading in an opposite direction
a re-routed tram couldn't be as displaced
as i am right now.

this is how dingy rinsewater drips from the sponge.
this is how a forgetful old man remembers his lessons as to teach.
this is how the trees silently grow from the living earth.
this is how my fingers mindlessly make noise against the black keys.
this is how the bird learns to fly.

this.

01/27/2007

Posted on 01/28/2007
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