Je cale . I stall. I stall at everything.
The stop and go of the frenetic epileptic.
It is my lot in life to be this way. Each pause
a brief and fleeting thought, meaning nothing, meaning something,
depending on the moment. Fussy, the old tricky standard
doubling in on itself, stalling at the light.
So the question remains. Is there more to me than this?
than this quick-quick slow tempo – the off balance waltz
so full of bright, so full of dark – sometimes emptied of both.
the blank sheet of paper I fill with words with words with words.
The question: Will they save me?
09/27/05 , The Dome, Montparnasse .