Glass in hand we submit the query
Where does space end
Wading through the results
Guesses mostly
We also see ourselves
Faintly in the glass
Staring back
A backdrop to the space under the glass
And the space above
And spaces we don’t know
Everywhere we look is space
Who can say where it ends
Perhaps the end is where we don’t look
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Then Last Of All”)
How is my fear faced?
Has it twin fanged loss
Betrayed by scars
Of hollow socket rage?
Can it smell goblin eared defeat?
When it comes will I see a face
Under that ambiguous hood?
Or have I seen it already
And forgotten?
Does it try to face me?
-T. Weeks
(A response to “By That Long Scan of Waves”)
No matter how perfectly executed
Papier-mâchè betrays its paper
Revealing text torn from its context
And pasted into forms foreign and new
Prose divorced from their origin
Hiding beneath the paint and glitter
Among these million orphaned words
By chance one may serve the sculpture
But will never reveal what it means
For it was never meant to
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Proudly the Flood Comes In”)
This is the perfect poem
Profound
Metered
Clever
Passionate
Gentle
Focused
I guess it’s a lot like her
-T. Weeks
(A response to “And Yet Not You Alone”)
The pen is intrepid
Ready always to dispense
Wherever it may
I am the coward
Sabotaging my balloon
Lest I journey
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Last of Ebb, and Daylight Waning”)
Once I stumbled towards the get
Then roamed about the what for
Claiming both I smile and forget
-T. Weeks
(A response to “You Tides with Ceaseless Swell”)
Cosmic bowling starts at 3:30
No one told us
Half way through our game
The lights went out
The music came up
And we started to glow
An experience unanticipated
Bowling is still bowling
But these new colors feel wild
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Had I The Choice”)
Life Immense 