Considering myself rejected
and not wounded
I fled
leaving parts
scattered and
shattered
I abandoned them all
like the dead on a field.
Who am I that I leave
my soldiers, my players
bare and exposed?
Who am I that I fly
when my other selves
lie without legs, arms, wings?
I consider myself anew
encountering
a creature
unknown
and estranged
the me of bare necessity:
who leaves selves for dead.
Updated: Jan 25, 2023
some seem to have agreed a pact for passage.
tidings hard to fathom.
experimental forms and thoughts that seem to come from elsewhere
here now: this is what we find, this is what we see, this is what finds us
second and third associations. words and shapes.
a second stab at a book-style tranche of writings. formed in the end not entirely how it was intended.
first steps. written mostly past midnight through dawn. night muse visitations.
Strandloper, edge-dweller, being. Sometime poet.
This site began as insomnia. Soon there were enough words for a book (Through Light). A little later, another collection was almost a book (Angry Red Sun, Pale Shadowed Night). Then came snatches of someone's thoughts from somewhere (As It Is). Dark tidings have also been received (Death by Agreement).
Along the way there are words on a plane (Tracery).
)
WRITE_1: a write of passage.
If a word, phrase or poem here shared
has evoked something for you,
perhaps you would consider sending me
"a penny for my thoughts"
Thank you for your appreciation.
