Clocks drop Old numbers By the cobbler To be recycled Into timely shoes Worn with pages Of spent calendars As socks of pure Potential that Might one day Be read like a Long novel slowly In the shade by Blue mountains That only pretend To care about fashion Or words arranged Too politely
Voted most Likely to Break a Small toe While putting On their panties Coordination Not a strong suit But stumbling Through life Not at all Intolerable Their lack Of agility But a distraction While narrating The disaster In tiny stories And silly little Poems
Call me Anatidae It said As if it were A profound Narrator Of some Famous tome Willing to Be a guide On the proverbial Mystical journey Instead of a Mere duck On the way To water This pond not On a map though It quipped True places Never are
"I am perplexed by my own language", he said, "the grammar of which, eludes me". She laughed and assured him he did fine for someone born into a post-literate society, "when I was young we had tons of books", she replied, "people read for fun, but looking something up wasn't instantaneous".
Becoming A person Often too Difficult The leap from Pathological Stasis To fully Functioning Dynamic That embodies Person-hood Not possible Emotional Zombie In search of a Rogerian Solution Or even a Non discerning Coffee shop Catering to A rougher Clientele
Reaching into a dimensionally unstable pocket he was able to pull up memories that didn't actually happen, not here anyway. "The benefits of a persistent trans-dimensional anomaly are not to be underestimated", he remarked, even though he was alone. "Stop talking to yourself", he replied.
Emotions being What they are Tethered to Nothing at all Time and memories Perceptions true Or imagined Too few calories Or an abundance Thereof Even a lack Of sleep A body #fatigued Vulnerable to Their machinations Animating a body As they will When even a little Peace Preferable
"I admire your lack of verve", she said, "high energy people confuse me". He liked her because she always brought a gift when she visited, usually canned goods, "I save it all for my notebook, verbs and whatnot", he replied, "where in the world did you find black beans?!".
Often words Bear repeating Nonhuman Ursine grumblings From within Best verbalized In the wild places Beyond the light Of what many Consider Civilization What tree or rock Would shudder In fear Because the roar Inside Escaped More than Just a little
Even a large Volume of Knowledge Inadequate Whenever Pondering Forever
Infinite where Infinite when
Long sighs Squinty eyes Even gnosis Not enough Worse perhaps Everywhere At once Without a prayer Expanded to A diminutive state Lost and found Green mitten Seemingly Accounted for
Seven limbs up Most everything A little less Hinky Bearable even Green leaves To hide under Blanket safe In the sky Street sounds Not so Very alarming Grand trunk road Of salvation Time to tie Wayward shoelaces Mindful of Likely knot
My mind The matter Which dream I'm after Not one Nor two But three Or nine Buzzards beak Savagely pecks Dinner from The railroad Tracks Lastly puzzled Lately bent Dimes and nickels Blindly spent
Trees growing From a log Fallen down In the Forest How many Years ago? Rotting wood And moss The medium Of survival And even that Decaying Into soil The living And the dead Both at same time Reaching toward Tomorrow
"Do you remember when no one noticed your ratty clothes", she said, "unless it was to hook a finger in your holey green sweater and say something provocative". That sweater was his favorite before she stole it, "I like the repair work you did with the orange yarn", he replied enviously.
