Growing the Gutters / by Jeffrey Kinsey

A world behind the shadow of another shadow casting more,

like strings of paper puppet people pressing hip to hip

and flung as one dimensional accordions projected toward

the place where mind and matter merge, decay, divide and split.


We hide behind, within, beside and all around ourselves it seems,

and dream in sheets of paper fluttering in gutters grown

along the sides of roads that wind from you and back to me

between a solitary path that leads in the great unknown.


A chasm of causality that swallows all effect, for real.

Belief belays the buckled belts and broken ropes we climb,

cliff to cliff to precipice, meandering the grand abyss

and blackened, bottomless existence buried in our minds.


The notion know as Nothing is still a thought until the point is lost,

and truly finds its meaning reacquired in the gap.

But gaps allude to bordered boundaries surrounding missing spots,

where once again the Nothing gives its meaning taken back.


Inside of this we breathe, the vacuum lacking solid substance.

In sweetened air we share the bare necessity of life:

a notion grown to juxtapose itself and balance balance-lost

between the streams and paper dreams that flow from you and I.