Whenever
it is—
that
the word
and
the thing
are drawn-
together so-
perpetually
that they start
to move!
at once—toward their great
goal of
becoming—once
and for-
all
one
and
the very
same thing—alas!—
such specious
and
pregnant
sorts
of
moments
always seem
to want
to tend
to bend
forever
down
and off
of their container pages—slowly
moving, melting
flowing,
dancing!
waxy
to-
ward exotic
kinds of
ruination—the kind
known only to our
awkward boxed-
in
senses
of dignity—as pure
embarrassment.