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Personal Note:

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Poem

Does the feeling left linger on the tip of your tongue?
Looking for sense in these empty-full strokes
To overstep bounds missed in the rush
Begging to see behind the puppeteer’s eyes
      Too quick, it cries, the feeling of void
The long-left loss of nothingness bright
Impression, mimicry, this blurry unrest
Like running the red-light period, stop,
Only to renege, try it once more.
It’s tightness of lungs, jumping the gun,
Skipping the top, lonely step
      Hitting the ground without knowing how
Should there be structure? Should there be rhyme?
On its side, upside down, the reversing of lines.
You stumble, overstep, move on, return
Try once more, but something hurts
To see it, comprehend it, silently
    	 Out of sync, out of time
      Speeding up losing words slow it down
Isn’t something missing, empty, gone?
Once you see it, it’s lost, one thought.
     God growing form from out of the fog
You stumble, the tongue-trick tripwire, return;
The egress of theme, the excess of feeling
Unknown, undone, forgotten, yet keening
To be seen in the light of those bright hundred suns;
The rhythm percussive, disrupted, clipped
Cut short by the brush, this eccentric love
If only to cover it up with the deep.

There is something missing, voided, gone,
But nothing to see beyond.




*this poem is written entirely without the letter 'a'

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