The tip of the pencil


 
 
Drunk and rebellious   
the tip of the story   
assumes elusive leak   
towards the unraveling   
years gone by.       
 
Time becomes human time   
as to narratively articulated   
he succeeds out of classification   
rehashing worn-out facts   
by a location search.      
 
It is there that placidly welcomed   
offers to be kind or not   
to those who are kind to themselves   
grazing light delivery   
naive wandering.      
 
Regarding a stop on the thread of life   
it is appropriate to take it at its word   
cultural and superfluous pleasures   
rather than comfort, prettiness and incongruous spending   
to make the bed of the imagination.      
 
Upstairs, point of limits   
just the dark grip of lovable lucidity   
summoned to choose   
what is like this   
rather than how we would like it to be.      
 
Becalmed by a sea wind   
it was painful to get out of the harbor   
we the sleeping animals   
more apt for the bright features of the day   
than at the hardware store of circadian jousts.      
 
The fine sound of the flute   
like snow leaving the chapel   
corbelled the language of illusion   
to have to be moved before the oracle   
mandating decentering of our visions.      
 
 
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