no 13

Without form and of no substance,
I am a disjunction between then and next
as if a crack, a seam, a
narrow impossible space,
a contradiction to time
animated and passing
these animated and passing
faces and moving through the
strands of their conversations, 
so many webs.
Loneliness converges with the crowd.
I am there.
I am not there.

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This entry was posted in 2012, Numbers, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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