Spoken
Words gathered, grown, lie in bundles, Gardener’s gifts or scientist’s samples? Carried gently past expectant faces, Strive to flee parental pages. The space vibrates with reinvention, A realisation of an Escher etching. Walls scramble, trembling, fleeing, Between twin mirrors; reflections repeating. The mic, Medusa, hisses, wriggles, Mesh woven into shaman sigils. Merge with double helix strands To call out the sleeping sounds. A voice meanders through my disassociation Releasing syllables in a rocket’s reign. The Countless days, through which they’ve slept, Now ended in a mayfly moment.
This piece is taken from my debut anthology Filigree and Fire
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