brink

remember that there is no destination 

almost there is the everlasting present tense

even when you feel like you are learning of it 

because there is a fictional place

until the hope of it becomes your captor

illusive powers beckon your ear

and begin to whisper great secrets 

they add one more word every time 

but the sentence never gets finished

you think that you could hear the message in full maybe

if not for this disconnect in the middle

pesky-sticky and persistent like bubblegum 

so you drop again 

as if to ask “what’s that?”  

and you drop again

desperate for repetition  

you will drop again

stuck in the game of telephone

almost is the witch’s cloak

a thief of freedom

to seek almost is to crochet a noose around your own neck 

we were never meant to hear clearly 

such is the nature of nirvana