Coarse leather
dark patina
no shape
I almost saw
your soul

And this author
who does he think
smug now

it's not him
still hidden
tabled here

just letters
spilt wavy like
to see

that's not poetry you say
yea but it works for me
it's not a dance that's refined
I tell the other side of my mind
just another lame attempt
a wannabe first of its kind
mush stuckina digital rind
feelin' this is quite a
fine mess
only /IP
can parcel this

Unsure as to why that is
it unravels itself openly
unreels, uncoils, unfolds
even spills itself further
into this shallow dish
foolishly as always
and impetuous
not careful
or measured
just emptied
out

I looked Death in the eye
quizzically, and asked,
sincerely surprised
Why are you here?
Death seemed surprised
too
That's not what
I usually
get asked
it said, kinda measured out
listening to itself and thinking
obviously as it went on
Why am I here
doing this
anyway
While I wondered
where else would Death be
or go?
if not on the job
is there a hangout
ghouls after work?
and now Death
was glaring at me
well even more really
and well even quieter than
and I wondered why I
had even asked
as if it weren't my end yet
Why are you here?

There is a poem
arising on this page
hesitantly

It doesn't know you
or what to festoon itself with
to get your attention

which is worth more
than diamonds

Look at your hands
tell them
how to hold
oh they already
know
Whisper about
the feel
of my

Rest them
in the crook
of my
place for them

Spin them around
each other
and you feel distance

Let them flutter
up from the keyboard
and sing

They ache
you know
for entwinement
your fluttering hopeful
birds