phantom touches
an impression born
of not being
wound words
so tight for so
long it will be
an endless un-
winding & i tap
tap tap tap taptaptap
out in quick tugs
the tendrils as i
loosen them
from themselves
it isn't meant
to mean anything
besides itself
it's less a poem
less a stream of consciousness
less an inner monologue
that it is just
breaths across keys
in the absence of
sleep or someone
or both
i've heard it
both ways
i've watched
the slow evening
spider march of
tangible things
spindle
thoughts out
and around
themselves
a spinneret
etiquette
of silk sidebar
significant
in-
significants
a round thing
jingling its way
in and out of rooms
summer smother
summers
mother
my inner ear
out of tune and
monkeybarring
its way through
the songs i want
to make mean more
than perhaps they should
those dreams you assign
meaning to, in lieu
of meaningful
mundanities
of this everyday thing
some people
have the gall
to call
life
a nest of negatives - i like the negation - also suits the new background, the aerial view of the black ocean waves - or at least that's what i see - that visual should suit any occasion - on which it seems the thing to do is to feed the black blogger text box
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