The Moments Tumble

Tediums of waiting,
waiting, waiting for you, to say something,
to break into the moments of hollow desire,
a light, a path, to get beyond the hypnosis of bloods yearning,
into minute details, of your past tumblings, and memory descriptions. 

You approach adjectives, and hesitations,
waiting for postcards, from the reality of smouldering ambitions,
to find, to regard, to covet, to work, to save, to acquire internal desires,
attached to objects,  things, hovering in various types of space,
your space, their grace and something of mine.

Tell me sometime, please, explain success,
how to sooth much failure of humans,
on impoverished streets,
and cull d’ sacks, where we idle, in mist
and smoke, in fear of mistakes and longing forgiveness.

I forgive you,
will you forgive me.


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