The same messageI keep expecting one of these wavesto gush pearls, one of these hoursto drop out of the skyand speak to me.I walk back and forthover the unleavened bread of wet sandas a stray dog leaving the shallowsshakes off waterin the same way a galaxy mightslough light-particles.For the moment there is no pain,no impatience--just the tip of my tonguepressing against my teethwhile the water,in one of the oldest gestures on earthskirts across the sand, etchingand erasing the same message:everything touches.
UntitledHow should I start?Type some words here?Or here?Or here?I type words––I write them down on electronic paper,For everyone to see.Nothing more.Nothing less.I guess. . .Should I make it rhyme?Or should I keep the rhythm in time?I suppose both will do.It’s not like this is anything new.What rhyme scheme should I use?What quotes should I repeat?“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”Or something with that beat. . .This is awkward.This is weird.I think I’ll go now.What?Nothing.I’m going.Bye.Wait just a minute.What have I done?I haven’t done anything,Since I’ve begun.Just write down some words,So aimlessly?I don’t quite know why.That doesn’t really suit me.I like to think about these things,To ponder over them.This is awkward.Should I leave again?Alright, what is this?My stream of consciousness?Or just an ugly mess?Maybe if I write over here,It will seem a bit nicer. . .Nop