There's nowhere to run but forward when your very own buttocks are chasing after you I look up; the view of my forehead escapes me, I have trouble tasting my own tongue I have gazed into eyes, though I've never heard a word from the ear despite listening intently (somewhere once I heard that gerunds are bad) maybe all words are bad the imperfection of the green bottle is more precise than the words that attempt to describe it the contents of the bottle shake, underground tremors but not enough to make waves, albeit how tiny I can throw thoughts like darts, from my bullseye out to any errant arc aren't we the pair? I stroke the umbilical cord, coaxing it gently to relax, to collapse into a coil, to reel you in to feel you in total darkness attempting to discern shapes any form will do to exit the nil nipping at wet organisms that threaten - nay promise - to engulf we ride the tide home in free-fall akimbo asleep back-to-back, we have nowhere to go but forward cc: Chagall 2021
Tag Archive: symbology
The gape, tongue off hard palette, the gape again,
teeth into bottom lip, expulsion of air, say I Love You
© Chagall ∞
I stared at the symbols for years until
they were no longer alien and I was no longer illiterate.
© Chagall 2017