REMNANTS OF RESTLESSNESS
Not having taken a powder to dry the
tears of what remains, I sense this
directionless path leads only to the
pit I stay in : one place, ill-conceived,
as a recluse, turning pages. Swatting
maybe flies in hallways of maybe doubt.
There's nothing more to explain - these
notions are all as preposterous as ever.
I'm here going to sit down now,
and try to stay.
-
The last train rolled past my window,
yesterday - tearing up the tracks anew,
men with pick-axes and gear-wheels
will try to undo what once was in place.
Ready. Set. Go. Their green light is on.
-
Mr. Akbar asks me : 'What use is knowing
anything if there is no one around to watch
you know it? Is that why we put mirrors in
birdcages? Why we turn on lamps?' Yes!
Astounded, I am too stunned to say more.
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