I start with a teasing play of words.
I’d come closer to you if I wanted to.
I go to the window to canoodle with the wind that precedes the rain.
I return a stare at the monitor and try to make a visceral connection with yester paper.
The screen transforms itself into crumpled balls of lexical experiments.
There’s a song playing in my head. I seem to be singing. I know my lyrics. I know my parts.
I know this song. I’m pulling it out of me.
I pluck myself out of an old photo album.
In the picture, my gaze is fixed at the vacuum beyond the lens.
I sniff around another photograph – Footwear without their masters, soak in the sun carelessly.
My eyes investigate to predict the lives they live. Playing guess at their self-made token philosophies.
I wish I could remember a time when I translated my dancing gaze into puissant action.
The centric world of mine tossed me around.
I was kept astir.
Have I danced enough yet? Have I danced to all the drums that beat pain out of them?
Lazy knee jerks and superficial protests.
Life has been a prolonged foreplay.
It’s time I detract attention from sanctioned aberrations.
