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IF
MY WORDS WERE BIGGER
2001-2005
If my words were bigger (oceans bigger)
they might engulf my mind's eye
and write of the vast inmensity thither.
If my words were bigger (gigantically)
I could comprehend perhaps this enormity
that is my soul, my home, my mother.
And when such unspeakable vastness is clear,
I shall not frustrate over my smallness.
If my words were brighter (radiant)
their shining white might light my thoughts
like eyes open underwater without stinging.
Unstinging rays, swimming-spitting white wakes.
Froth snakes divide the blues----connecting.
If my words were deeper (deep down)
They'd root inside I, nurturing in warmth.
Under spring rain words would bigger and blossom,
sunbound stretched
till they gleamed and sparkled
with new dew
before drying off their youth.
If my words were lead heavier (solid carats)
they would sink into my spirit with gravity
and anchor me to a wisdom
that evaporates with infancy.
To feel without sorrow
that I'm weightless like my words,
that are light, lightspoken (broken), (un)heard, forgotten.
Words that travel, that depart,
leaving behind no luggage,
no language.
Fade-out words.
If my words were longer (long as light-years)
would they bridge me
to an eternity I lived time gone?
The one that fled from my clockwork prison,
ticking unstoppably until its motion fluttered
into heartbeats that thundered into my deaf ears,
ears disabled to hear words as long as light-years.
But my imperfect words
are small-tiny-little,
(un)made up of fragments
that fall apart,
letters off torn paper,
handicapped alphabet,
scars on soundwaves
that distance decapitates.
My words are dark (obscure)
like my blindness,
and they stumble as I,
feeling my way; no way.
No way to be seen
tearing through tear-gas.
Enveloping gas that levigates me
away from the way.
My words are light(white)weight
like fairies.
They float up, cloudily crescending away,
bubbles crashing-bursting-melting into seaspray,
and when they have flown-blown invisibly (gone)
no-one believes in fairies...
Perhaps I could chant my words musical,
and string them onto danceting songs,
hymns reverberating
to ancient drums
of red-tinged galaxies
beyond the other side.
Faintly then, in silence,
you may pulse with word rythm,
if I sculpted-molded-carved my words tough,
and polished them
into transforming harmonies,
you might bite their beat, echoing, murmuring,
and your nodding and swaying would show me
that my metamorphed, stuttered words had reached
you in your world-
-distance apart-
and your eye of understanding
would screen me pictures
of the world without words,
without words my thoughts
would shut up.
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