2044
6.217
5.viii.25
page
for the dreambook, wise surprise
page
is a blank mist into which
we peer
have you noticed
sheep’s heads, cloud
more of the same?
how all of these are words
.
in the dream
books, pages, lines of utterance
words themselves
each float, random, miraculous
through the air
like motes in the beam
.
full of bright gems
comets, asteroids
glittery junk
our very brink
in the treasure box of memory
some stairs roped off
one room forbidden
.
what’s in a word?
it’s where we’ve all lived
it’s time
a means of aspiration
.
stone is a world
takes a poem to knock
from just these few shapes
we make
what never was before
.
all this that
there’s a list of lists
and we’re crossing tings done
we’re always putting things off
the only thing you have to do is die
no need to hurry things along
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