This life runs like clockwork.
I'd say it was God's work,
But who'd get a robe so dirty
Working at thirty-minute intervals
Weaving a fateline of subliminal messages?
These tiles are snug around the edges.
I walk over them quietly
Touching them, lightly.
A T.V. screen pours light where none is needed,
Keys sing in the dark of a room overheated.
We float unbound in this river,
But it has always had a path we've missed
Glancing over words in parentheticals...
This is purely hypothetical.
No comments:
Post a Comment