to a soul

i once met a glittering woman

whose smiles had the convinience

of the cuckoo covered songs

and shoulders held the swing

of the hunting centreless turns;

happenings where hollow watefalls

on the shallow surface of her body

that animated her in a missed motion

like a mannequin that dances

on the tinglinging wires played

by oblivion absent clapping;

she had never articulated 

on her jugged juggling jaws

that inspiration is the reflection

of nature awakening into men_

broken feelings risen from senses

tapped by intermittent care

of understandings and distractions

in perception of the memories

absorbing silent circumstances

suspended and lined balanceless

in a blinding march for expression_

souless if not stitched into poetry,

without continuity if not made soul.