3 plus 4
today is a seven colour day.
i hold and code data in my
brainstem processor, but
space there is limited,
though unquantified.
so i see a face in a crowd
the (re)cognition takes four
more paces, bfore i place this
character in the space that we
share, touch my hair and try
to smile, while the sun squints
window wildly and we breathe
and speak and seem to seek
similarities, or sameness,
patience is blameless and i
hold secrets - coloured seven
times each, co-defied, section
wised, and prised wide mouth
for speech to clear the teeth and
make the distance to ears nearby
and here i swallow, throat scratchy
inanimate, headlights, dear,
equals
roadkill candidate if i don't step stride
and handle it, it'll get right and then
mangle this attempt of mine, to
redefine my chosen seven,
though i protest at less, in this
i have no say.
and anyway, i'm not patient.
i wait but only through necessity.
but if i had two chances i would
probably still move through
motions, no notion of the
quotients my brainstem silently
employs, to bring me joys and
subtle ploys to make the noise
take on fresh meaning. i'm less
leaning more angled, banner
spangled but star-stripped,
stockades faded radar blip that
we tripped over in history, and
its pissed three generations
off and now a breath and then
a statement. clenched fist and
soft wrist, and we'll restep
our patience pavement.
i hold and code data in my
brainstem processor, but
space there is limited,
though unquantified.
so i see a face in a crowd
the (re)cognition takes four
more paces, bfore i place this
character in the space that we
share, touch my hair and try
to smile, while the sun squints
window wildly and we breathe
and speak and seem to seek
similarities, or sameness,
patience is blameless and i
hold secrets - coloured seven
times each, co-defied, section
wised, and prised wide mouth
for speech to clear the teeth and
make the distance to ears nearby
and here i swallow, throat scratchy
inanimate, headlights, dear,
equals
roadkill candidate if i don't step stride
and handle it, it'll get right and then
mangle this attempt of mine, to
redefine my chosen seven,
though i protest at less, in this
i have no say.
and anyway, i'm not patient.
i wait but only through necessity.
but if i had two chances i would
probably still move through
motions, no notion of the
quotients my brainstem silently
employs, to bring me joys and
subtle ploys to make the noise
take on fresh meaning. i'm less
leaning more angled, banner
spangled but star-stripped,
stockades faded radar blip that
we tripped over in history, and
its pissed three generations
off and now a breath and then
a statement. clenched fist and
soft wrist, and we'll restep
our patience pavement.