See Through
Glazed, perspex eyes looking wistfully through blue tinged plastic, deem life to be the search for awakeness, the constant pursuit for the perfect cup of coffee, a hideaway to provide solace, and the pursuit of The Great Understanding. Verse starts to take shape around the thin pencil lines gracefully traced with purpose through the paper; the author’s semi-legible scrawlings carefully inked in. The language dance begins.
Pollen makes the air suspend gelatinously, adding to the hazy drifting of the head, unsure which dimension has been entered, or the co-ordinates of the next loll. Eyelids sealing the self under seeming hundredweights, thoughts in the sky, the soup between slowly boiling and blending. Permeating.
Waiting. Writing. Waking. A rabble of cupboards and utensils crashing, providing the metallic tinnitus. Added to the fresh smell of setting ink and the perpetual itching of a nib eager to fulfil its potential, scratching away at all irritations. Yet sort of abstractly falling away at the curved edge. One step from being ripped away and replaced.
The words sympathise. They are willing to take everything, along with all those bags of crazy, the endless list of broken imperfections, the idiotic behaviour. They tried to mend with pills and stitches and metal. This adds to the further fragmentation, with chips, cracks, chunks, peppering the earth.
But they seem to understand.
7 Comments