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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