January 12, 2014 #smallstones

What if poetry is speaking in tongues,

and tomorrow – the tomorrow of our dreams –

is really yesterday, or the day before?

And what if time dislocates itself

from time to time, like water,

always seeking its own level?

And what if we live and love inside

a closed box, where freedom and justice

are just optical illusions,

dream-like holograms of hope?

And what if poetry is speaking in tongues,

and homeless shelters and prisons

our true condition, an accurate depiction

of our feeble, temporal existence?

And what if poetry is speaking in tongues,

and pure information our medium of exchange,

transmitted exclusively by a holy kiss?