I waste the hours
waiting
for these intersections
when the veil is thinner,
and language is thicker and vague,
and the night can’t decide if it should get darker
or lighter,
so it hangs,
on every word,
waiting for the command line
of language,
and I leave it wanting,
blinking,
using words that dance around instead
so we are suspended here
for just a moment longer. — This
is poetry, then:
before the word knows
if it is particle or wave.
Here is one step closer to ambiguity
and one step farther from communication:
one foot in
and one foot out.
