The Pneumatic Nature of Laughter

Have you ever missed someone
who did not exist?

Have you ever considered the strings
from which stars are suspended

throughout the emptiness of your own being?
Have you ever wondered at the pneumatic

nature of laughter or traced the curvature
of a swan’s neck through the spaces between

a shuddering whimper
and that stone shattering the delirium

of your glass house? Have you ever
witnessed the rationing of an idea

so that the waves just beneath the lake’s surface
would not be moved to dance back into yesterday?

Have you ever dreamed of lavatating
in pools of too uniform tears

beneath that terrible forge
that touches the sky with its blue mockery?

Have you ever found yourself
denoted by your mask, that one

that denies the precision
of the cut that revealed the nakedness of your heart?


In response to MindLoveMisery Menagerie’s Wordle #125.


6 thoughts on “The Pneumatic Nature of Laughter

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