Retractable parts
in composition,
innate responses
solicitous,
humanity misspelled,
A collection of words
aesthetically pleasing,
arduously placed,
perfectly planned,
and to wit--
I've run out of space,
A copy of Been in the Storm So Long
motionless next to me,
aging, yellowed and unread
yet, there is a certain serenity
in sleeping words
carefully configured with the meanings
of love lose love lose love
and lose
but that's the most important
message
to tell us how much we've lost
and how little we've gained,
before we cross the
first page,
the true muses song,
or do they sing?
is carefully relayed
or
I've forgotten--
and so have you,
don't remember
the words have been planned,
selected, arranged, sealed,
the 4th wall overrun
and unbeknownst (archaic)
to Leonard Litwick,
who sits on my mental porch,
the eggs have begun flying
and
the damned are still waiting,
recall them forever inured
and entertaining
that we'd ever extend a hand--
even as the fields are burning
and you're struck with yellowed
thoughts, folded corners,
underlined sentences and marginal notes
all of us reading
forced to follow left to right
a less then tortuous course
without a clear end,
and when you look back it's blank
and before you is too,
and by then Dr. Litwack has gone home,
and no one is left to explain
anything
to
you.
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