Oh what did I say that slipped away,
Slithering down the staircase,
Silhouetted among the shadows,
Nodding to the gathered guests,
And winking on its way out.
Was it something that caught my eye
Moments before, or a voice lumbering
Through the corridors,
Of a smudged ancestor from faded times.
Was it merely accidental, a slight
Miscalculation of the weather that leaves
You drenched in the soaking sun,
Or was it the soft fumbling,
In the closet, of a persistent spirit
Waiting for its turn.
Was it a contradiction of a
Planted opinion,
Widely watered and gardened,
Or a corner table,
Cornered by the center,
Yet left vaguely looming around.
Was it a falsification of something
Immutable, so elegantly honorable,
Columned and arched,
Or an echo of the reality,
An abject reminder,
That words are loopy and return
To the fraternity,
Over and over again.
1 comment:
Words have a way of looping around all the time. Sometimes, I wish I could squeeze the universe into a ball( people, words et al) and roll it over to the sea.
But the ghosts of the words would still remain hovering around, waiting to haunt. They would probably say these, with a wide jeer, in a wheezy Prufrock voice:
"“That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
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