In liminal space
words don’t always work
hands where I can see them
drop those nouns and verbs.
propelled by giddy uncertainty
I’m navigationally challenged
to say the least.
I’ll build a map of glorious contradictions
to get from there
to here.
adjectives and adverbs
make poor smoke signals
biting my lip
to keep careworn cliches
from tumbling out.
tracing the sea of points
that punctuates your shoulders
the shortest distance
between any two given places
isn’t always straight
nor uncomplicated.
No Comments on "smoke signals"