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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'