No End of Patches

and then he said, or did, or thought
more than he said, or did, or thought
or perhaps less than was remembered
by either him or me upon reflection

thus the endless permutations of then
and when spin like whirligigs
dazzling the kaleidoscope of now
into a frenzy of misunderstandings

he picks up what thread there is
laying here and there upon a ground
and sings a song as he sews
one piece of cloth unto another

and so I sit and long to listen
to things too hard to decipher
snatching after scraps of meaning
made manifest then disappearing

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s