the ever-distracting daydream is a form of presence
   says the window
my hand unconsciously crafts doodles
before averting back to words



if I were a poem
I would be everything
  in between the letters
unseen and often misunderstood
to feel me
    you would need to let go
of meaning
           float off paper
     beyond lines
to open airwaves
   don't try to read me
   I need to be heard

if I were a poem
            [wait what]

if I were a poem
            [yo, did you hear that]

if I were a poem
my stanzas would be disjointed puzzle pieces
horcruxes spread to different verses
each with a fractal of spirit
  but never the whole
put me together at the end
for the big picture
-I wouldn't make sense along the way-
I would hold magic in my brokeness
enough power in my message to build
  ...and destroy
      ...and rebuild again

there would be so many gaps
you would wonder where the years went
  come and go as they please
I would only speak when silence requested
my composition would paint Surreal Renaissance Futurism
                     yea... make that make sense...

if I were a poem
I would be referring to imaginary numbers
and friends
fictitious characters and places
just outside that window pane
            like [c'mon you saw that]

side-quest-obsessed
catch me on a tangent
lost in a daze
   days     hours     minutes.    seconds
catch me relative
just like the hands of time

if I were a poem
I would require second chances
  over and over again
but I'd be worth it
  be worth the suspended disbelief
just for the amusement of it all

if I were a poem...

g@#dgvxdbyhix&*u@ggcuybbdjhgus$%