An author sits at a weathered table

mission style

in an alcove with leaded glass above

light rain mists the light within,

fountain pen clasped between fingers

the ink flows on a sheet of paper

calligraphy is a sensual expression

an idea emerges intimate with it’s creator

uncongealed in its quest

wavy black lines on flat white paper

chasing,

the autograph of a thought.

 

A nearby computer waits

its attention span needless of coaxing

in a technological cloud of voyeurism

blatant marks in a metaphorical contract

a sense of judgment with each word keyed

with varying degrees of scholarship

captioned on a Technicolor screen

an overwhelming desire for more

is enough ever enough

an enigmatic witness waits for a signature

before the idea misleads a trust.

 

Different words whispered

ears waiting in line to hear

diplomacy seeking an awareness

like a wanting breeze in the tropical heat

possessing a latitude and longitude of its own,

knowing a single word can be parasitical

like the Gallinipper mosquito at feeding time,

a distant, deceptive smile

an existential mask on a television screen,

and the child arrives on a rocky shore

bewildered

a native is found lost in the corporate maize

an overdue notice in hand,

authentic is a complicated adjective

when the heart is on a separate journey

and the autograph of a thought

is disguised under the cloak

of an acronym.