Thursday, November 09, 2023

Uncaptured


Uncaptured

Mine are painted lines, inky shallows -

the whites of the 'i' s

blinking in mascara masquerade.

Grease-paint for thoughts.


Words are dreams,

dreams are words

but the sentence

never snores

but fidgets

in somnambulism.


And I stumble over syllables:

that pebbled shore of speech

rattling in the ebbing desertion

of restless, stanzaed, sea.


Meanwhile the grease-paint thoughts

gulling and floundering

in the tide

fade

beyond the dream.

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