i write all day,
the constant narration of my life,
line for line the nuance of
stepping stones, where am i walking
and to whom am i walking and what oblivion
am i searching for in this room, or that one.
there is a voice who tells me what i am doing
from one moment to the next,
what name is my name now?
i have painted my face and that is my voice
for this morning,
i cut my hair, my clothes all have a statement
as to my mindset,
here this action is a story of why and how,
this motion, this vocabulary from my mouth
it speaks, and then speaks inside that speech,
a line between a line,
what i say is less what i meant than what i meant by it.

09/19/2012

Posted on 09/19/2012
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