Writing as fast as time
Gives precedence
To empty rhyme
See
Time is much thicker, singular, sad
Something not to be had
But to be
And every writer tries it
The stream, the
Screaming fit
Scream!
Gone already, as fruitless as
Catching your breath
It proceeds
What as formless as could be?
Or ‘free,’ we must grasp
As catching our breath
We gasp
But there back broke, flee
I never wrote
perfectly
He moved across the forest They moved across the forest It moved across the forest moved across the forest elephantly. across the forest under the autumn star the azure trees the fruit of rippling way
that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot
The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a