- Vol. 01
- Chapter 06
Holding the noteIt hangs as an outpost dispensing sympathy,
indolent in its accident;
bandaged up as a whipping post
for those out of uttering,
for those out of hearing,
for those out of tune.
It nods to those willing to draw up;
to yoke themselves up to the unknown
where time pieces lose credibility;
where waiting just becomes.
You halted in your progress, to speak
into its innards.
Being here, you said, is not to be known;
when being denied speech like a dulled beacon
throttled in an attempt to transmit,
is to be rejected
by a web of wasteland
ring-fenced by a ribbing of mountains.
To look up close, you said,
is to listen;
to be up close
is to be heard.