I am falling standing up,
never truly doing either for years within seconds,
staggered by the gap you have found yourself in
right between the layers of a poly amorous mackerel sky enclosed, dark and fleeting
holy shifting wonder, a light,
suddenly I want to know what cardinal direction I face
cause the smolder of ritual elation to come turns me to shadow
and I relate to a dark stage knowing it is a blemish on a sphere of possible
because I know that celebrations are kin to a storm
Surging following this current in silence
blankly inquisitive about devastation with a smile
Wondering
IF
IF a
IF a void narrative such as this becomes so strong that I cant distinguish it from my calling to pace with life
How do I know that I am here at all, much less catch up
does anyone visit this moment
Devoid of me
all that is known is that this presence i am filling feels a vacuum full
Every moment subsequent calls in unison with the one before
doors open and close
Photo by Fred Watford. Words by Will Gillespie.
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