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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

harboring in the myth


he can think not
his rolls and waves as if beating wings
flashflood the blood vessels
turning his eyes blind his ears ringing
his head dumb until his will
quits reaching and gropes darkness
wanting like the ostrich he believes
to hole-in the panic
and it gets deeper surely
all is at ease underground

his senses blind him fooldigger
ready to go down on truth
over his head and believe
anything thereafter unreal

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