Where Words are Loudest


Certain things are sweeter too. In not form, but spoken. And in

Notions of sponged madelines,

The way papaya feels on your lips as word, as juice. Sounds in both.

A bare wrist

Before the blue beaded band; frosted glass falls to meet heeled palm.

Where Indian progressed partition cannot simply be, ‘stead is

Charioted by birthed punctuation, in limbs formed from full stops meant as a whole.

And as the ellipse of grown body; language.


I’ve lost the subtlety of Literature

Poems are swallowed with sharp wholeness, now

Insignificant wonders are trampled for the bigger picture.

At a table for relished discussion and fine toothed combing,

My words are written.

Now, it’s time until each of us has forgotten why or how

We’ve said them at all.


But my delicate temporaries have place

Even now. Especially now.

Belonging under magnified glass eye

Not in elbowed, winking


Where here, you are still enlightened discoverer.

Where it is value I am most sure of.