Three steps to Pentecost

Silence intimidates

breaks complacence

with inconsolable soundless shrieks

that terrorise

strip back courage to a foetal vulnerability.

 

ii

Gathering

waiting

the wind disturbs

then tongues burn with words

that turn

senselessness to meaning.

 

iii

The fire licks

the tongue trips

over unfamiliar formulations

of syllables

that make a sentence with words

that sound absurd

except to those who hear their own parlance. 

 

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The sense of words

Not written anything for a while and felt the need to put something down yesterday. So I offer some pretension derived from a discussion over Derrida. 

 

 

What words accumulate

waiting the furrowed attention of a reader;

their stasis –

a question.

 

How long must we live in presence and absence?

Will we never be realised,

fully known;

are we always to be deferred and left reserved?

 

Such is our sentence.

Read, un-read, forgotten.