i must admit i've missed the touch of pen against recycled paper, recycling thoughts and sensing coarse unity against the edge of my right-most finger and its adjacent palm-side. it is with somber truth from which I can not hide that I shout for you to r e a d my w o r d s; i know not why, but these are my offerings in such a life;: all i can honor for a god or a friendship or the strangeness of sequences, all i can serve as a side to my heart. at times i wish i were more blunt, and at times you throw a glance which shuns my person into shyness, these s e a r c h i n g e y e s run-a-marathon while you look away, seeking a face of interest. it is silly, on my mind's part, for even if we find a point of interest, it will remain visual; these teeth, this tongue- we forget our purpose when it is most desired. as it stands, i am a bird alone. no, i try but remember not the last time i took off with
spoken word and free verse by michal shilor || שירה כתובה ומדוברת מאת מיכל שילאור