Shapes Asunder

Of letters dancing

The mind of the poem is the quest of ascertaining

What will adequate.  I did not ever always have

To find: The setting was provided; it reaffirmed

What was in the script, dog-eared.

                                             Then the play was changed

To a theater elsewhere.  Mementos formed its’s future past.

It has be to alive; to learn the lingo of the locals

It has to face the visages, the time, the sentience

To look at the stone-faced. It has look at war

And it has to suffice, to get its fill. It has

To find a new miracle, to renew the stage

And, slowly and mediation, like a fidgety actress,

                                              Recite the words that in the hearing,

In the delicious ear of the mind, reverberate,

Precisely, that which it wants to fathom, at the voice

Of which, an unseen audience sees, hears, not the plot, but itself, repeated

In a feeling, a thought as of two ideas, as of two

Ideas converging into one. The actress is

A ghost in the dark, throbbing

A string instrument, plunking a wiry taut line that gives

Sounds filtered via violent correctness, fully

Encompassing thought, beyond which it cannot stoop,

Below which it has not disposition to rise.

                                             It is the satisfaction of seeking, and must

Be of a man dancing, a woman fleeting, a girl

Bawling. The mind of the poem is the quest.