Pages: by Dakota Pizzi

We are nothing more,
than words on lined paper .
Who are you,
A poem, a sonnet?
In pencil or permanent?
I find myself to be in script.
Looping ups and downs,
But persistent.
Like threading wires chained along the sky along the winding road,
Meant to be moving ment to keep going.
Meant to say what I say,
And be as permanent as ink,
But never looking back across my many pages.