Who was he to never love me,
or he who loved so pure?
How dare i do so in fear be?
How cruel a woe inured—
this feels like a waste
of thirtysevenfifty. lucre
we could have leavened else
where, betterleveraged. put on some
thing other than my teetering
caprices. being good enough is
just not. why, as a novice,
can i not be more master
ful? abecedarian aspiration.
when tomorrow is a blank
space, unimagined, what time
is there—for waiting?
but a reader. hubristic seer. you
may penetrate interstices, but without
stitchedmargins, your desires
would never pore pages. withheld. with
out. blank, balked breadths. so, sit.
still quiet, discerning. knowing
you've no allay for my agitation.
impatience. a thing never diagnosed,
no! not ever. only endured.
much time should i set aside for
learning something as sudden as
sonofabitch! i paid for the soaking
stone that i might better slice
the many things i may. this life,
so very involved with waste.
what then of inquiry
from which nothing
is learned—nothing taught?
neither student, nor teacher.
an estrangement acute.
what lessens the incalculable?
should one amend the sum?
fail safe for the insuperable,
a supposition where equation fails.
some data are too stark to be rounded—
in which case,
Post dozing, in a partial state, i perceive your
abiding allure. A distance of tables between, i climbed
atop and drug myself along their edges, through
the tenebrism, toward you & your shadow. echo.
The two of you weren't frightened, simply confused.
Chairs caromed aside, i smiled—clumsily closer.
noNCompanion smiling, until finally i arrived, the final
chair knocked from the table. Your shadow, serene yet
puzzled, notknowing, but you—stillbeautiful—knew me,
not knowing. What a shame you never loved me,
only ever seeing me awkward. Not nearing
normally. This face grinning with stupidlove—
The walk : winter falls, springing, tired,
summer stumbles, falling. The pedestrian
breeze soundily locates one shoreside—
The wind, as waves, lapping indifferent.
the door, chattering—
an instinctual somatic saccade—
as the pileatedwoodpecker
sticks its semi's. As metronome :
bodies making, doing as instinct
Shine Ballard, the dégagé-dabbler, currently creates and resides on this plane(t).