here is the title

it’s been a long time,             digital dust caught in my lungs,
i’ve heard the music,                  continuous, & there is a period of,
not only can i stand,          right hand leads while, can
the complex murmurers,          it isn’t the letter i, nor
along the path,                   is there a random phrase, a signal
of completion,          when the word, or is it, now i am

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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

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

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

copy clerk

the table waits, eight or so in a broken line,
take this, but watch the edges, a paper cut away,

a room of white & grey, too much grey,
follow work-flow, workplace understanding,

it’s a mess of this & that, but the name,
dress to suit, don’t look up, camera eye,

security & the old man who pushes mail through
a machine, find food, but here we go,

paper upon paper, file & forget,
the experts of prep, with a gap in diversity,

a serial reinforcement across the floor,
remove sticky notes & staples,

don’t read too much, but information is
important, & here we are,

smile & look away, bald head & glasses,
wandering eyes watch the copier copy,

then again, perforated edges, cough &
smoke exhales, over the next few days,

the room will grow, smaller, to miss
the open space, the moments within,

arms against, now again, a return,
accents in voices, the nasal sound

of time & broken vowels, listen,
but here, this short ceiling, these cubes,

a room slipped inside as an after-thought,
the stamper stamps, they know their way around,

the upbeat onset of a job accepted, what cost,
paper, a question extended, think

within contained parameters, feed
the scanner, sort & lift the tray,

read into lines
& broken ideologies