Post staccato

As if to make it harder to
accomplish the dot, the sphere,
it makes it sharp, nearly
indecipherable in it's glowing
praise of balance,
rythym ads a t or y or
i when I talk on the phone -
quickly she blurts.

But red lines mean nothing
added but dots, artistic
skirmishes in the mind -
remedies for orange cones
we avoided, when we stayed
within boundaries that
allow new construction.

And it is, positively a dot -
to make it hear by this time -
never in a hurry of course,
though I tracked your sense
of history - where you were
when you were most productive -
buddy.

Now it's clear that art wins.
Dark as night it comes onto
my page, seeing white, seeing
nearly a frame, diagnosing
an altered state where it's
faster, nicer, tacky, bright.

Now, then, nearer, far -
then we'll take, another
gross, outlet, for making
tea, bags that are about done,
stores for fragrance, making
it seem a sense of light.

© 2013 Larry Ingram