Through my Fingers

I told myself

 

That books and words

And sentences and poetry

Are just combinations and algorithms

Encoded with the same twenty-six letters

Over and over,

Outward and outward,

And forever outward.

 

And that sometimes those twenty-six letters

Weave into each other,

Under and under,

Inward and Inward,

And forever inward.

 

So at sixes and sevens

As I tried to put you onto paper

It was not my fault

That they eluded me.

gif-typewriters,

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s