Another Day

Another day,
another hour,
and I am in the same position,
and the world accumalates its dust,
and the world accumalates its rust.

Another day,
another hour,
and I am in the same position.
I am sure I made a move;
a mighty effort!
Sure as a hammer's arc;
Sure as the mighty clang,
I did bang,
and my arm grew weary;
and my hope grew faint.
and here I am,
almost in the same position.

Another day,
another hour,
regret piled on regret,
no point to fret.
That terrible feeling of time being wasted.
I feel very close to death
and yet my body does not know it yet.

On Speaking and Listening

There is something crisp in the sound of my own voice
that lacks when others say my story.
Is it the same for you?
when mouths consume the essence of the words
and let but sound escape.
Hold on to the creative act.
It is the Word made spoken,
in violent power 'gainst the sky
thick air to sculpt and sway.
So does this make you now, my lover,
for you to listen and unravel,
from ear to mouth to throat to spine?
before I knew? - the silent time.
and do you know me, more, than me?
I weep,
because I did not listen.
I turned my body, cocked my head,
and looked forward when you read.