In
the midst of euphoria’s trite couplings,
I
lost my way with words.
Whether
subconscious streams of
phrases
drowned out my thoughts,
or
rather, pebbles of cold syllables
were
scoured away by the sharp liquid rush…
The
fact remains to be proven,
and
yet stands proud and defiant;
I
slipped through the cracks.
Whether
in part, or as a whole…
My
knowledge was scrambled by instinct,
greed,
or was it something akin to love?
Taking
a thought over a penny any day,
I’ve
welcomed intention instead of articulation.
And
find myself now neatly wedged between two walls,
stacked
with people, and not a hand-hold in sight.
Jennifer Burnside
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