I take back what you have stolen and in your languages I announce I am now nameless.
My true name is a growl.
Margaret Atwood

6 July 2018

untitled (the echoes call to the road)

you bend at the waist, a figure 8
as infinity died in his eyes for the wanting of this curve
(a heart still beats arrhythmic)
and he sings algorithms because it's his only language
a pebble stuck in your sandal as you walk
outside
(ghostly caravan's bells ring) 
echoing, you left a note: E=mc squared




Friday 55 is temporarily "on hiatus" - but there is no reason not to work 55 words into something, so with thoughts to Joy -

2 comments:

  1. I love the ghostly caravan's bells. Math geniuses may not be the most romantic sorts, but they're still human, especially when faced with a figure 8. My advice, nonetheless, is go barefoot and find soft sand--it's just stones who've lived longer and grown more accommodating.

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    Replies
    1. LOL@ the last part of your comment - what an interesting idea - and worthy of (a)musement .... and yeah, barefoot rocks (er ... that is weird, I mean, rules!) ... especially in softer sand ....

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