Friday, January 11, 2013


Time woke me up in the dead of night
and whispered,
I'll keep moving along
happily if you do.
But I won't, she added,
convince you that I'll stop.
She continued,
Within me there are folds in which men
and their endeavors are lost.
Some are recovered while others are forgotten.
I am wrestled and warped within your memory.
You have transitioned into a world of red dots.
Your ego stretches and pulls me to your selfish needs.
The more I involve myself,
the more things lose physicality.
Where your hand may have been,
your head lies.
Where your sensitivity may have been,
your numbness lies.
I give you logistics maps, pins stuck in,
strings attached, hanging slack.
You pull each line taut to construct a cognitive web of disorder.
The more you think of me this way,
the more I will be this way.
She was gone.
And I felt her threading through me.