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. 

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