Sunday, September 7, 2008

The word

The organ is not here, only the word.

It feeds the tension, the elasticity, the bark.

There have been motionless tempests,

echoless screams, graves of prosperity.

The word belongs in a sentence

that is yet to be uttered.

The word is part of an unsolved puzzle.

The word is an anguished skeleton, a promise

that has not been kept.

The word is made of meaning, not letters or sounds.

Could it ever be uttered?

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