Between the Lines

words run
                    together
notes on a barroom napkin
numberless
reasonless
                     dull

waiting for the
                             press
of 
purpled lips
or
buffalo’d fingers
                                 
anything
that might mean
spice or fight or
                                 life

but nothing
                       comes
to interrupt the
                               gellied
                               jellied
scribbles
that pass for
blood and age and
                                     wisdom
in this 
            limitless
            virtual
                            reality
where he is
                       everything
and she is
                   nothing
and words

Words
             are
                    all

© s rogers 2008

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