Mar. 23rd, 2017

fflo: (bobby hill)
In my dream with a friend I arrive at some thing
that I know you'll be at, and know you know I will,
the friend and I still mid-escape from some man
who'd stop at who-knows and has already had
our blood rushing adrenalin-quick, but the
first glimpse of you poof! ---he's gone, in the crowd.
You walk with the people you're with, along aisles,
this busy gift shop off the lobby.  You're talking, but
focused, I know for dead certain, like me.  It's forever
but finally we're in the same row, both our clusters;
with physics and math, yours comes down as ours up,
the slow ramp, the same rate, and your body I know
doing inside the very same thing that mine is.
And then there we are, here is the moment, we pass

and my arm moves my fingers, as your arm moves yours,

before on with our everyday people, away,
and, hours now after waking, I still feel right where
on each of 3 fingers, our skins slid together, and how.
fflo: (Default)


Postcard of the Day

(a feature involving a postcard on a day)

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For another postcard thing, see
my old postcard poems tumblr or
its handy archive.

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I'm just starting to post here & at livejournal. Add me and let me know who you are, and we can read each other's protected posts.


"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists


September 2017

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