"we are on
the eyes and blinked away."
More Perihelion:
Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series
On Paper
We smell sweet, we can almost love,
includes night in its umbrella term.
who never take 'no's the way they are said,
the eyes and blinked away.
Follow us down these long burrows
we come in through doors you never knew
and eat your food. We say, this sound
of a quickening in the forest
At the speed of dreaming
we scatter murmurs among an audience
of one. We are the kind of people
leave them on the floor. We feel
the air on the tongue. We don't
have time to wear out, we are on
The stops at the ends of the lines
are terminals where we debark from
trains of thought. We care less.
Your eyes scan us like barcodes but
our receipts show you the value
of everything and the price
of nothing. We're all elbow.
where we gather like
exoskeletons of ideas. Blow us
from our graves, back into minds.
_______________________________________________________________ 100 yr old man
In regard to the hundred year old man
Everything turns to comedy, to Lear in
at the chipshop whose stories were
largely unintelligible: his laugh
took us with him into his past,
something to do with the North Sea, with
being sick and arriving, memories bubbling.
Something about flying over the Alps,
an air pocket. Every sentence, whether
funny or sad, ended with the same laugh.
The point of his words was the laugh.
slapstick, falling, bringing us with him.
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