praptap's latest - this is becoming one helluva intra-textual trip (not final version)

conTAC(I)T

crouched

in the smallest corner

in the dingy corridor

of my mind- "I weep


alone."

I see your hand

"so beautiful

so pure

so distant"

reaching out

in a different golden light,

but I don't/can't.


in this dingy corridor

I have severed my hand,

chopped it to a mere stump

with the glistening scalpel of

my II hand perspective.


I pine to reach out my ugly stump

quivering with dying traces of life

to feel you-

I'm still alive!

but I don't/cannot.



you will never understand

I do not/can't

(want to) explain:

the only way to really talk

is not speak.

the only way to really feel-

not reach

OUT;

remain

in the dingy corridors

hoping

your "beautiful pure" hand

will break through

my II hand walls


touch the decaying,

putrid heart that beats feebly

in the hollow cavity

of my moldy chest;

filling it with thect

beauti : ful(lest) flowers

swaying in the light of

your

"pure beautiful distant"


perhaps sunshine.