Stop.    Period.

Enough said.

Not enough said.

 

Gaps between words like a chasm;

between sentences you shimmer

and fade into an ocean babble of white.

 

Then     from your cabin in the woods

            you lurch reborn in a zombie retch:

A bacillus of text.

 

Tell me what you feel

Those thoughts that you think

Life as you're living it

Tell me every little thing

The inches you pack

The breaths you've been breathing

Those stars that spell a name you thought you'd forgotten

Your fibre optic prayers for rain

Tell me it all

No detail too small.

 

For my part:     Fuck You

That's all I really wanted to say.

 

Period.             t(-_-t)

 

 

 

 July 2014

 

EMOTICON

Les Roberts 2014