2004Feb13 (Poem)
Friday

It’s autonomic
Non-egocentric
There’s a pulse
To be found
In the spacing of the text
A letter has more than one location
Or it would just be a design
And that spiral beat
Is like a photograph
Of a thousand words
Now with twice as many syllables
Meaning out of control
And intent veiled by language

It’s limitation
And liberation
There’s a gift
To be taken
From the hollow, empty nest
A feather made of so many fibers
Could not be reduced to a name
With each varied line
Responsive to recomposure
In an infinite many
Forming groups and then reforming
Movement appreciated
Flight itself confounds explanation

It’s a rhythm
And an emotion
To satisfy
One’s motive
Requires a redistribution
A sound spoken should be heard