Sunday, March 16, 2014

At Things For Which We Have No Name

I excel; the blindspace of mind wherein
we write our papers, have conversations -
that particular knack for no brainstream
of thought before the words tumble out;

the peculiar nature of driving forever past
an intended destination, the loving glance
at a painting while thinking of the past -
a feeling of magnum opus for the well-written

words on a page to exemplify a growth;
herein after we are never the same - I
am the writer of such things, if only within
my own mind: I do embody the wordless.

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