UNSPOKEN SYLLABLE'S 

 

 

I woke to the throng of traffic

As if in the traffic jam of all

The world.

 

I held my hand, not in a death

pose but with a palm on my

chest as if greeting the day

in an inverted handshake.

 

The traffic fell silent, Morose

not right wrong It just was, 

locked in motion un-emotion.

 

 Wondering what format should

this be in prose, essay. Then it formed

in this mode a natural default.

 

Pome, was my one and only form but

Why was I writing this form, this was 

my world.

 

This was the new me on lions-mane.

Hi I said to myself and settled input my

Electric blanket on C9 and zoomed

Into my new

Beyond the darkness within darkness

I was no longer in the black-hole poetry.

On the event horizon, another dimension. 

Without the pressures of poetry and prose

A formless form.

 

Pure feeling on a page, a fox looking at

a fox by a fox a past-present.

 

1.