ON THE PAGE
looking back in time
at this poem
(coming at
you at the speed of light)
could have hit you
aeons, days, five
minutes ago
causing me to wonder
how
(by virtue of what
dark arts) you can
tell yourself
you profess to see me
so much history (your history)
necessary to compute
need to
shuffle through
before you
have any notion of
how to
answer
when I ask what I am
how you
found me
on the page
poems 2 die for 