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

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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