The Line

Take a certain length

of, let's say

fiber—

of, that which 

there is never enough

in the span of human diet

and we fein check

tensile strength

of, pushing, pulling 

from index to thumb

right and left,

or taking a tooth

primitive to,

gnaw it

quick like

in a suture

of, temporary 

fit—

to be tied off

and dispensed with

like a dangling

preposition

to which proposition

of, we need 

only append—

some customary phrase

of, furthermore

or as well—

or something similar,

as to extend

the remark—

without altering

effect and continuity

of, thought

or wire

on which dial tone

depends—

the somewhere

along, the spectrum

or broadband 

of, understanding

that follows us 

like umbrage

taken, in defense

of, the long shadow

behind the hooker's

lashes

or the dalliance

that melts us

into common shade

of, divergence

and still we look 

in storybook reference

for the Guiseppi

connection

individual,

what keeps us

assembled, schooled

and attentive—

to the draft of work

we were meant,

as lineage—

to accomplish

what withal

invisibly held

strands

of, that lower

and raise

our arms and teeth

like piano keys

and animate our feet

in directions

of, or way wards

we might

question—

drawing attention,

if the public crease

of, our mouths might

speak independent

of, the projection

in the diaphragm

that resounds

with authority

of, ventriloquists

and master scripts

of, social recital

amid the wool

we are pulling

as we ready our trays

at the soup counter

where we ration

and gather

our portion

of, hallucinatory

daily fare—

while

at the back

of, is waiting

the rod and the bait

not spared with image

notes, smoke or underline

reflected in the

buoy of, water

with a smear

from the corner

of, a blurry signature

and every fading

memory mark

on paper

of, any me,

myself—

and

I

2024 APR 18