January 31, 2009

Addictions I

Words fall short



tonight



Vocabulary is wounded

Dying on book shelves

In dictionaries and thesauruses



Red bubbles

Beats to the train

Tracking hundreds of kilometers



Thundering

Leaping on iron



Across fields, crops of sorrow, words, languages

To the vacuum of your room

In my universe.



Tissue papers and pills

at bedside.



Under frittering eyelids:

a swift flight to your

single rajai.

Fleeing over tracks, trains,

roads, trucks, planes.



Within seconds,

back to the harem of coziness

after a day of torched

black toil.



Words fall short

when

silence speaks.

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