No one can ever be sure
What she's reading
When all words are one word
Of TheOneTrueText.
No one can node sleep
If the day opens, gambits,
Leaves her behind in TalkTalk
Prone to the TextCommune
Limbs akimbo, swelling mate
Whether down, withers up
ComeComeCome with no tepid water
Fall and catch, find a news.
Wrinkle in TeasePlan,
FineLeaf grabs the headlines
Chews more cloudy text
Ah whosomever wishes ComeComeCome
The missing ones are not yet bought.
He was a moongarden in the festival of light
a tease of shadowboxed lacecurtain wrapflinger
thrown aside by crumb writers
unwriting as they bumble through their meettiinggs
Where was the fluttering Word
that skipped through the conversation
we have with ourselves?
The plentiful ones are drowning
in this where aquatic abundance moves.
Close to drowning in sky
far from home
exactly
where the son comes at night
to the mother's haven, after
having broken laws of life.
WritingDubuffetsTitles | ISBN 82-92428-29-1