Words, Words, Words

I spend my time cobbling together

Words, sentences, strings of pictures

As they flicker against the pale bone

Screen of my skull, like film, a matter

Of illumination. Dreams also enter the world

This way: as pictures we comprehend

Without the use of tongue or voice, letters,

Or any spill of ink. But that only works

When sharing one’s ideas with oneself.

To communicate to another, we need patchwork

Rag-words sewn together into quilts

Of meaning. That, and the shine of eyes.

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