5.ii.21
406
2.36
words
for Steve
Armstrong (part of our conversation)
a swim in the self, see
long shelved to life
open the book and out they fly
still sometimes cannot read them
words are inhabited time
some only seem to be
but ours and anyone’s
play possum
…
choose!
they dare the very lips
and other apparatus
of blessing, of curse
each interrupting other
no one has the last
dog tugs, rolls in them
cat brings home
binned words
and later, in an ideal world
fallen over the page in arrows
words snuck around a corner
lit off for my limits
you don’t have to picture what’s on the cards
with words it’s another story
come heartfirst into the jungle thereof
how often wasted on a prayer
go nose to arse along
and still I find my name among them
fresh for an eternity
as if I were now, just now, called
words built as they are broken
must have been meant
must
call on them
and to account
(finest print ever)
a little dance they do
trap of light, be my intended
days, lives lost to these mere tricks
call each one out – a lie
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