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 |   GI100 Book #2...random attempts at poetry. |
8-15-17 When you write your name in tiled letters, the ingredients of an artificial language substitute, do you box up the leftovers for your neighbors (if there is enough)? Or do you loosely pack 'em up and toss them where you keep the things you hope not to see again until you really need to? We live in this place where seldom is the end of anything, and there's always a little left at the bottom/middle/end that we can't get at or won't acknowledge other than to admit it's probably greater than us based on our intentions alone to look the other way as we cast it aside. We don't know how to create something and not misuse it. And when you run your hands across those tiles, scrambling up your name into fragments of undefinable sounds, do you feel a sense of relief because you won't have to share? Even if your neighbors will still know your mess is there? |
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