was the word scribbled, live or die? the hand writing, unclear. but no context equal to the intelligence or the opposite - to see that upper path, spacious species, trees. heart beat in infinite sense of unknowing - time in life to death is timeless, yet exists without mind or speech our inability, even to the silence, measured like a thing proclaimed, yet its essence elusive but for what human thought contain - itself, itself, it a watch strap around wrists of any future you can see. oh, here, unfulfilled - notes on a scribbled pad, hopeless, tho love abounds - helpless in its face ( eternity or other symptoms, the eyes sense, out of whack, or all not there, tho it's there. can you get back? or know what was different than an eternal shifting present.
|The East Village Poetry Web