repeating distance TDT

This page room,

air as tangible parchment,

moving scribes we, together,

scale a mountain, re-inventing measures for climbing,

going to great lengths to balance

on edges of risk and recovery.

The hands of many

timing the placement of our history

as we become earth and quake to the impossible possibility of

“can you see me”

and

“yes, yes. yes, …”

The tips of our fingers tracing lines into solid forms that float and root

into such great appetite for imagining,

where sushi and halibut

form aquatic adventures

into this aquarium

that with the water of our words and moving

floats us buoyant and crazy

into the spill of porous capturing.

In this dance spoken word rant

parading towards margins of

voices that gather intimate,

that gather strange,

that gather I/eye into

a humming choir of passing present lives,

streaming through the waterworks

of body,

a huge party of well-wishers,

carrying on into the night and day of song,

a resolutely invisible remedy,

going on and on and on.

Lin Snelling