Perhaps at no Other Time has language failed me… I think and write and wonder into the lyrical ditch, stranded, marooned on the lost signified drifting endlessly towards that Unknown location… Warmth Imagined. Aiming, arming words to project and convey an un-totaled LOSS of meaning. Aloneness masquerading as Freedom, Taunting Me. And SO I write in that spectacular VOID. Reflections past unfold before me.
Writing sans Logic, the scene Dissolves.
And that which emerges feels for its gifts of Magic.
Times before Ourselves, accepting eyes range far into Night.
A Wealth of Dreams and Treasures Stored.