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Fugue

For the meaning of confluence.

By Gregory BroadbentPublished 5 years ago 2 min read
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Read the plain font then italics, then together.

These words will deliberately slip beyond their allotted meaning

I was woken by you when my dream was still replaying the same message

Once in cohort or contrast as if they were not words at all or have

Any meaning between us is but a seed of what we mean when we have

Any meaning at all, once beyond the influence of their consorts,

Coherence and confluence around a rationalised relation to a set of plans

Once they are but a blade of grass in a dusty desert

If in my dream, I dreamt alone that you would wake me

Meaning only that possibility of meaning that is a lawn

Once the thoughts in my dream meant the same

as the thoughts you would share

Or the sand particle that lays in the fold of a leaf

Which may just be what lay in your mind as you woke me

Awaiting the breeze that would scatter seeds

Thinking to move me from my single thought, that message that blew

Across the oceans that isolate the continents

Into the oblivion of a void full of nearly remembered memories

In a manner that thoughts cannot

When thought by a single mind, never shared or viewed by you

Being tied to the mind that awaits the breeze

Until you were the mind that brought the breeze

That would disperse into itself meaning,

That meant you understood me by the way my dream was

Being neither cohesive nor comprehended

Shared and yet but a blade of grass in a dusty desert, no more, and yet,

Any more than a seed awaiting the breeze

Capable of revealing the lawn where we would sit and express the plan

That would reveal the blade in the desert

As but a bunch of isolated thoughts that shows us the lawn

Or the leaf that hides the sand in its fold, could comprehend itself

Where we comprehend the other once I am woken and see my dream.

As anything but a single entity outside the influence

Outside the meaning you woke me for, to scatter the influence

Of its consort and devoid of meaning, but for a breeze

That wakes me and

That picks up the particle of sand out of the fold of the leaf

Settles me into the sand of a dusty desert

Or bends to and fro, the leaf of grass, as the sand holds its seed.

performance poetry
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About the Creator

Gregory Broadbent

I am 53, live in Melbourne, Australia, with my wife and two teenagers. I work as a counselor and tarot reader in North Melbourne and have been writing poetry and prose for over 35 years.

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