There is a veil
And you will not humor me
The suspense is
Like a zillion seconds
Ticking in my head
Crowding my sensibilities.
There is pain, remorse and desire
For a million different worlds
For the clouds to embrace me
And make me part of them.
These mementoes, souvenirs
What purpose do they serve?
The nature of this longing
Is sinister.
The mist that forms shapes
Outside
Show me vague structures
I cannot fathom them
But I finger the water
The cold breath of a winter
That took too long in coming.
The veil still pervades my understanding
And curious unbelongingness
The triviality of the occasion
Stings and nags the receiver.
Open-ended are these conversations
Without meaning or substance.
Why cant you hold the sand
So tight so tight
That I might suffocate in it
That I might drown myself
In the acute nature of this gift.
So that I’m here no more
And than you will cease to exist
All dimensions will take all shapes
Mists, veils and acronyms on paper.
6.21pm. 9.1.08
