Saturday, February 28, 2009

Over Parota -21/02/2009

.
A Trail.
Nine nations wide,
Made of coffee cups and table tops,
Traced out shapes sketchy,
To hold elbows,
That hold up hands,
Stuck in hair.
In here.

A Handful.
Of thoughts and eyes,
Darting across this expanse,
Of tiny puddles,
Reflecting,
Ceiling fan atmospheres.

A Voice.
Quiet like now buried seed,
From a few hours before,
Yours,

With dirt and scratched off dandruff,
Still under finger nails.

An Idea.
That gropes for some head to hold it here,
For some one-moment,
The briefest of these,
To look at,
It,

In your eyes.

A Gap.
Expanding itself in all directions,
Between each reason,
That binds the rationality,
Of a homeostasis-holder,
To the arms-wide embrace,
Of nothing at all,
… To hold you back.

A Now or Never.
Folding over in an endless,
Infinitesimal string,
Of pearl Now’s,
For you to miss,
Between the swiveling points,
Of arguments,
Stacked up to store,
More boxes to fit worlds,
In.

A look, Looking for more leverage.

A Spiral.
Working its way through curves,
In your trajectory,
Spreading out like a cheesy grin,
On a beautiful face,
Floating somewhere out there,
Beyond your boundary.

A need.
For invitations,
That won’t forth-come,
That know better and envelope,
You,
Contained,
But not solid enough,
To be opened –up here,
On this table.

A Student,
Taught by you, a thing or two,
Student-teacher-pupil,
In her eye,
Hair flowing,
Like connections between,
Now, and its opposites,
You, and all the rest of this,
Her, and the never-minds,
A chance,
And the law of conservation of,
Momentum.

A centre.
That cannot be-hold,
Scared as a held breath,
Silent as an unread book,
Distant as another yesterday,
Passing you,
On the road.

That centre scared,
That cannot hold you much longer,
Or back,
That centre scared that reaches for new edges now,
In the now,
That center scared, from here to there,
That Pandorian box opened over parota,
That centre scared like what-we-gonna-do-now?
That centre scared like last chances.

That center scared like dears,
On roads,
In head-lights,
That swerves in violence,
To avoid, i
mpacts,
To steer us, sharp and sudden,

For worse or better,


In a whole new direction.


_____________________________________

-Peace

.

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