I do not remember anything only the pace of marching
cowering dreams shudder my sinking calls
wake up as I fall landing back in myself
I never
left, or arrived the brain or whatever it is sees only itself
row after row of abstract shelves continental or deep space, selves
I have never found anyplace, but the trenches full of benches
people sitting they look around before leaving they move in circles which are truth, and yet — deceiving
see the sum is less then nothing, though…
still, I am receiving
what do I gain or lose
what can I say or do
do you believe me
or I in you
a stillness; conceiving


Published by Tom Lopes