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Thievery in themes
among words and worlds
of thought
and heart:
what's right,
what's not.
And each measured line
written in hasty rhyme
is written and rewritten
and plucked from piles
of your pages,
only with perforations.
Poesy and Piracy are cousins
rooted together in branching affection:
an understanding unspoken,
uttered alone in eyes.
There is not in the world
either malice or matter to alter it,
I think.
I hope.
With inspiration as elusive
as an aging angel,
I anguish as Antigonus
in restless agitation.
Art has never been
so very close;
now it teeters terribly
on the tip of my tongue.
Something so near,
but never mine
because I am only
what I say
and I say
so very little
of what is truly
mine to say.

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Sources:

CAMILLO: Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.
They were trained together in their childhoods; and
there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
which cannot choose but branch now. Since their
more mature dignities and royal necessities made
separation of their society, their encounters,
though not personal, have been royally attorneyed
with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds. The heavens continue their loves!

ARCHIDAMUS: I think there is not in the world either malice or
matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable
comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a
gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came
into my note.

- The Winter's Tale - William Shakespeare

AND

The Ecstasy Of Influence

Mauled And Masked

There's a word
for people like you.
I'm sure of it,
only I don't know it.
I can't pronounce it
and I can't spell it.
It gets caught in my throat
and stuck between my teeth.
Mauled and
masked.
I'm a terrible poet
and worse at 3am,
but your miles
are in my eyes.
Wide open,
wide awake,
and that wide smile of yours
wades through the width.
Whispers and whines
and wayward eyes
and the musty shine
of lucid lines
make clear intentions,
no false accusations.
It's true;
all of it is.
But fancy words
can't create bridges.
If time and space
were nothing but terms,
this bed would be less empty
and my body less cold.

**********************************************

Couldn't sleep.

Fuch yeah, dude.

I'm still cold.




"'You sink your voice, but I can distiguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others.'" Captain Wentworth / Jane Austen Persuasion