Diminish

[raoin]

Diminish
you are a dozen rich lines of ink on the page
and i think, half-heartedly, disparagingly,
that i will never finish.

in the thickness, the lines between such things,
i find myself reduced to a haiku
and none the richer for my condensation.

who wants to fold a saga of autumns
into the stark movements of the new Rome.

i seem to be of this aim.
two lines away and i find myself
with nothing to say.

my y's are right rich loopholes;
handholds of prophecy.

so seldom would you have to reach out;
bridge the drift between letters -
only one reason
among many.

smell this ink.
it is the product of this time:
disposable, disreputable; indispensable.
common and by its commonness
if not loved, or otherwise held in high regard,
famous.

this, and all the ones for October that follow, are parts of pages i resurrected recently.
stuff i scribbled but found no use for.
i'm putting it up in the hopes of reigniting a spark.