It felt something like this:

My tongue is in my fingertips and it abhors the keyboard's bitter zest. It's not possible to say how I feel or how I think you feel. I can't imagine because I haven't experienced. This isn't so much a conversation as a dance and not even a good kind of dance, having recently learned that there is such a thing, where at least one of the participants actually enjoys the movement. It was, more so, a dance of avoidance--a dance where the purpose was, in fact, to avoid moving too abruptly, to carefully step away from each other and on to more important ritualistic dances, to elevate the discourse such that it ceases. Because it's impossible to comprehend this rhythm. Because the tempo is much too fast to feel this remarkably slow. And because it's not a fad. Or the chicken dance. Or the electric slide.

And that's why I won't type, "I'm sorry..."


Jayemel said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Jayemel said...

Not poetry? You do realize if you die and someone finds this blog, entries such as these will be called poetry.


broken570 said...

it's rare that you would delete a comment, dtr. i wish i would have read it before it was gone. i check your blog every day for a month, and then the week i take a break, all the action happens. go figure.

we must get together. i'm thinking of coming down to decatur the 27th. yes? i'll give you a call a little later today to find out if that works for you.

Daniel T. Richards said...

I didn't delete it, actually. I think Jayemel posted the same thing twice. He deleted it.

No drama, sir. We're too old for drama.


broken570 said...

that's not true. you're never too old for drama. drama will find you wherever you go. because drama is a fickle bitch opiate.