asterisk*

There is no

S P A C E

f

o

r

which

I FILL

transparent silence

b r e a k s.

a hush,

a bustle,

a wind – s w e p t still.

Little circles of whispered echoes rush by

watching and waiting, living this forlorn alibi.

I wander

and follow

and find a new way…

By land

by sea

by night. by day.

And me, but a drifter, know the secrets not shared.

the [h i d d e n] truths behind their emptiness bared.

Sold souls, and by the cheap

L

U S

There is no P E

For which I hold

Ever so,

quiet,

still mining for gold.

I am an aerialist,

on broken wing

I am a dancer,

no step to swing

I have a song; to you I sing

What do bound ears hear

There is no

P L A C E

For which I go

No bodies to embody a home

Broken locks,

paper doors,

no need for signs

I’ve been here before.

I watch through a window.

Storm on the way.

The rest are inside. They'll be okay.

Neatly wrapped packages of bone,

tissue and teeth.

There's a tunnel of light,

with a window too small

to crawl underneath.

A gust of invisible apprehension.

The air’s setting on pall.

No sentiments fit; one size fits all.

No

one

ever

will

know

The story abandon

e

d

Just m e m o r i e s

in stow .

*Now, once again, and again once more,

Out, and back, and in and around,

through the same door.

I am swept a w a y.

I leave once again, then once more I am here,

waiting and watching,

with no souvenirs.