Danny Rose
New member
The expectation was the worst of it.
Lifting the left leg, placing the right thigh,
Successive little phrases, bounds apart,
Isolated in continuity,
Tightly wound, then quickly trussed together
As some metre cuts each second apart —
A wakefulness, intent on catching sleep
In the act of rising, begs the question
Of how one might escape oneself,
Expectant of their own departure,
Everything always resolving, yielding
Out of what it was, into what it isn't,
Then, thrust on the hinge of predication,
Neither the one nor the other.
Lifting the left leg, placing the right thigh,
Successive little phrases, bounds apart,
Isolated in continuity,
Tightly wound, then quickly trussed together
As some metre cuts each second apart —
A wakefulness, intent on catching sleep
In the act of rising, begs the question
Of how one might escape oneself,
Expectant of their own departure,
Everything always resolving, yielding
Out of what it was, into what it isn't,
Then, thrust on the hinge of predication,
Neither the one nor the other.