thinking about the strings attached
to the page, along the warm waters
of thought, & when the dog begins
to wine, abrupt while listening,
we hear the absolute in the shaking
off of wet fur, & another pen
tells a story, shared between one,
the eye in the see, we listen, of
course, the single drop in a
rainfall

as though moving towards a state
of sleep can steal you away, magic
occurs when flying silently, to
be among the toys of adventure,
& it's off in the land, looking
for the other eye, it will drift
by, sea shells & a key, & the
door, an honest look, will remain
ajar

affordable

outside the reason
        of writing
is an escape
into poetry,
the continuum
of words joined
        without grammatical
        consistencies,
the jarring affect
of forgetting to make sense,

i sit
in this tiny chair,
force words to combine,
allow space & location,

& you,

the vagrant on looker,
never even had a chance,

it's this,
this ending
that only makes
it affordable

nonsense

informalthoughtoftheexcerptalongplaywithinintersectinginsects

indirected questions

there are
other reason,

pointed
within,

interacted
properties

that propel,
in inverted

propositions,
as spiral

to force &
opposition,

in eyes, or centre
to the indices,

closing in directories,
crouching on meaning