Again you pantomime escape . . . sparklers crackling . . .
wading through shallows as if clarity
was chomping at the bit . . . to enter the frame . . .
the blameless obfuscation
of your notebook jottings pinning the tail . . .
How to explain the fascination . . .
the tacit approval of your blue books
brimmed with proofs of migratory
thoughts crowding out others
in the takeaway box of your imagination . . .
clocks desperate as once . . . oh so long ago . . .
You are plain-spoken whenever you enter
the ring . . . eyes focused on the prize-
of-the-moment . . . filling some gap
you don't remember from where despite
which you continue to go through the motions
matching the self . . . in the mirror
when with the sun you sign into your life-is-OK life . . .
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| Peter Lindbergh |