There is a hypothesis seething in the sunrise,
a chalk pock broiling on the barren blacktop street:
"each knot begins where two ends meet."

By the searing stitch of noon
I desperately string the theory
whip-thick with looming
and fray my ignorant meat
to spread like unwoven evidence,
dissecting each unfortunate end
that tied itself to me.

The day unravels.
From a fizzled strand of ember dusk
I dangle, inconclusive;
thinking here, to release
and splay from end to end,
to sizzle unsubstantially,

or belay upon tomorrow
the thickest theory,
"we all depart ourselves complete."

06/26/2009

Posted on 06/27/2009
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