Down to words (1338)

Shreddings (302)

 

Sam dreams awake, 

Aware, afar.

Akin to Maub,

Who sits his spar

The concrete cools.

Sam nods.

Sam dreams.

Yea, still awake, 

But head back

On the concrete slope

Where Day Man sat

And hoped and smoked

And wrote his glyphs

And sang his riffs.

 

Sam nods, thanks God,

As going got quite hard.

This going as a dot,

A kind of floating point above,

Says Sam I am, am not.

Sam the dot is not.

A dot that has a history

Is Sam the dot,

Says I am Sam,

No notion how,

No mother now,

No notion how

I learned these things.

Says I am Sam

If dot,

I have a history

That letters do not swallow.

No Royal makes me bow.