Friday, November 16, 2007

White Spaces

You turn the pages spasmodically
Reverse the leaves with a flick
Your fingers hiss
And on the wall the lampshade is magnified
Indignantly
As the water trickles
Covers up the glass translucently

You turn the pages spasmodically
Remembering at once the immediate
Switch
As the low kept coming at you
As the humming continued
Between these white spaces
The expanses of a set landscape
The mediocrity hurt the most
Tied down reverberating inside
Pirouetting shape-shifting love

As this was inadequate
Loosely followed a tarmac road
Ricocheting diligent purple lines
If this is it then we’re snowed in
And I’m apocalyptic
White
We’re apocalyptic
Revealing the future as a shipwreck in the
Pirouetting shape-shifting sand

You think it’s in potentia
Imminently without escape or promise
Drained and repetitive and polished
There’s the ferocious humming
Again
And my iambic senses are penniless
Clusters hovering in mid-afternoon
Between the whites and the blues and the greys
And we’re lucky this hasn’t happened yet
We would have faltered enormously
Pallid and ill and falsely crafted
Pirouetting shape-shifting words

You have the gift of turning every page with intimacy
Finding them hidden between white lines
And reading out loud
Reciting the shifts across monuments
And paying your dues to the known
Uncompromisingly locking everything inside
Here, in these spaces
Where we kept the windows wide open
And trickled down the glass like paint
A mass of strong unhealthy drops
We trickled down the glass immediately
Lost the way, coiled around ourselves
And fell flat against the concrete.

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