come closer. there are things to tell
in hushed voiced, slippery rooms with silhouettes
hanging down the halls, snakes in the walls;
slither with me towards an unending
and perhaps small glimpse of contentment
not poetic, not nice. just, "i am."
us tool-bearing folk keep our words to ourselves
our handiness at the ready, worldmaking time
is any time; sit on my lap
and wait; i've built a clock to chime
on the thirty-fifth and a half second
a portent of something, to be sure. we can
measure in half seconds
but we cannot plan for days like this.
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