T Wignesan Poet Free verse

Parallel Lives

                               parallel lives

                                       fleeting neutrinos 
electrons 
                 photons 
gravitons...
                      turn on the light 
                                      turn up the volume 
                                                       
                                                                      rouse the thought 
bolster the idea 
                 flash the dream

               are those dreams 
do dreams undream
                            pages 
inscribing words                accounts
      balancing sums illogically unbalanced

                                words that mean a little less than non-sense 
in the waking state

    does the brain trip up the mind 
                                      the thinking I

           where      do
   other unbendable rules apply 
      other norms 
other ends
                                                               for simple adding acts
                  
      or does the brain permit the flush 
in its routine  memory cleansing
                                                          jettisoning

         words on the palpable page
                                                             fleshed out words 
upright print
                                                 countable sums on balanced sheets
and the rhythm that distends then breaks with the imperfect     
       rhyme

            who sings in the quiet of the grey matter folds
    mermaids stroking sleek streaming hair over hived clacking     
                  scales

what deep jungle tom-toms call to the air with verve 
                                   no human pulse can endure
           where the quantum speed of arrangement rain poems on an
invisible time-curved screen 

no hand writes 
           no I thinks 
                       no bodyprint survives the speaking flirtatious crinkly crusty page

                              only the tangle of the doubt
was it you who wrote/spoke that which you cannot recall in full

    how many the querulous whos roaming lost in the outworn labyrinths of your sleep
                                                                                                          coursing with neurons 
                trapped in synapses
   swinging the trapezes of the sternum  
                                                                    the antebellum  

blackholing reservoirs  
     the gateway divide  
               into other dimensions

              or is it all just a mangled bungle of the hazy muddled
consciousness seen through twisted cataract prisms
        taking lackadaisical stock of yet another straightened-jacket ironcast day

From the coll. longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999.
© Re-worked 2016 : T.Wignesan – Paris,  August 2, 1997

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