by Michael Benton
She chews slowly a morpheme that he has layed down at her feet the murmuring poetics buffering his soul as he hungers for her taking the chance to sally the edges of abstraction as antidote to confusion and angst feeling wounded like a baited bear a torn piece of living being exposed for all to see everyone struggles and my struggle is memory flowing through desire released in language initiating the possibilities thought to hold in her hand how will she receive my scribblings what will they mean is communication possible I recall her inner beauty standing now solitary I listen to the stillness of my world missing her laughter lacking a singing voice or a painter’s eye I offer up words as a humble offering walking alone along boulevards of color and light I play word games gathering winged thoughts that circle above me turning eros into a page that her gentle eyes might touch as time skips a beat in awe, if, as William Burroughs states, language is a virus, then I am going to create an epidemic
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