words wander, in tight-knit circles, nearer bound and boundless dread.
each moment cast with an iron sinker but all the same, round about — an approximate language i’m certain we once spoke. it is the language the moon dreamt, when time was no man’s and we waited for no day but today.
there are exceptional moments and those in-between. it seems i have known too much, in-between. i was an angel until he sent me back in time.
did you find grace? look still and dance with her two left feet, forget there ever was a beat as arm in arm we all fall down.
who picks and packs? who saw the puzzle, pieced?
there are stories to craft but first, a voice to muster. they stuffed the riddles in my ear. never mastered a clue, Sir, ever the black and blue, Sir, buttons weighing down my back.
there is no string to tie-up all that’s come undone. how cast aside, the breath i cannot take, the choices ready made. have i drawn a better suitor for this second winter’s gift?
striking with destiny’s left hook, i wrote the idiot’s guide to silence, swept the well-paved road we know.
That’s absolutely beautiful. Are you a spoken word artist too? I can hear that as I read it as if it were a performance.
hi Paula! i was an actor, once upon a time so yes, these last two are meant to be spoken movement pieces. only in theory, though… the stage and i have commitment problems ;)
This is perfect – not something to comment on but to dwell within. The rhythms are great for the flow of spoken words as well.
Wonderful! Thank you!