Thursday, October 27, 2005

Not now, I'm vacationing with words

Words are setting—long slope
of the sentence as though

though we have tongues which are
wet clay / though we have tongues
which are night / though we have music
which drifts away

and we touch so little.

Oh, always reaching / surrounding
in the cocoon of our imaginations

and we imagine warmth / we imagine
motion / we imagine the linear between
point and point

on the plain which is wet clay / which is night
where we see daylight

and history / and the ownership of history
which is definition.

It all comes down
to moment and words
which stretch the moment / which stretch
the moment’s skin over
the emptiness between / which stretch the thin wet clay
until the moment
we imagine we
see purpose
greater than the void.


Aisha said...

"He's got it! BY Jove, he's got it!"

Congratulations, Enry Iggins.

Eliza Do Oh So Little

H. W. Alexy said...

Heh, Liza, this title keeps changing, not certain which is the best, Enry of the many poems :).

Aisha said...

Keep this one...
or else:
I've Grown Accustomed To My Words :)