Tuesday, May 19, 2009

hints and allegations.

You say there's three types.
Which are you?
Which one conceals himself
behind the screen
so far from my reach
and yet too close
for comfort?
Which one makes me laugh
without making a sound?
Which one has begun
to permeate these four walls
without moving further than
the fridge?
Here's a hint,
do with it as you will:
I am waiting for the right moment.
It's electricity
on the tip of my tongue,
in the curve of my spine.
It is fighting to be heard,
dying to be read.
It is facing down a declaration
that may never come.
It is daring you to speak,
but fearing the words.
And it is wearing thin.
If my head is a balloon,
then you're the glass ceiling
I encountered on my flight
to the wild blue yonder.



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