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“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” asked Alice.
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there is a stillness in contemplation
of the next motion.
there is this silence, for pain for rapture
overlapping hush and wonder.
all of it all of it tumbling smooth
like stones in the water
strange circular sickness
sugar-drugged apathy
for sameness
and hurt
for
1.
and what delectable pain . . .
and all of it from a curious picture
and a linen kiss.
i am still inventing something
for the morning.
i am hoping to re-invent morning.
i am wrapping the last threads
off immeasurable dreams
around my wrists
so i float
to where
you
may
be.
when you feel a tug
it is a (t)ether
you should tie it tightly
about your waist
and pulsepoints will lead
where they may.
and i will come nearer
to your ground.
and i pray you will wake up.
and the last silvered tail
of whisper will ask:
are we there
yet?
~ Andrea E. Janda