Thinking

Artwork by Pennie Gibson

Sir, bow I'm writing

at lone island, not thinking

face smiling, heart shrinking

a man thinks, not thinking

God descend, realm is in my closure

thoughts are odorless, and not dreaming

but thoughts are me, mere my pleasure

a man is asleep. but not dreaming

Sound in background plays backward

melody is mute, I'm not hearing

in late memories (taste is awkward)

a man is speaking, I'm not hearing

Say I foretell stories in papers

would you buy me? Just asking

or if I was printed in fat-reddish letters

would you read me? Still asking

Think of a man with not a brain like me

given a pen or a world for living

at least a world, a pen he wouldn't see

if not for signing his name, a word for living

rd for living