newday

these words take liberties

on my tongue, stolen truth
in sleep-and-talk
where time gets eaten
by the time you take

and mindfully, I stop my gaps to start
recounting, counting – seconds gather
space in sleep,
verbally tied,

then a memory—
I used to believe—

all the words were just a name

and I wake strapped up and
whaleboned in, a sliver
with which inhaling
on each second, each sound
all again seem just alike

you turn to me, and yet, and yet

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About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

20 responses to “newday

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