The Fog Surrounds Me

The voices echo                 and repeat

become static blurs and sliding

 

vision. From nowhere

gloved hands muffle senses

 

people stand behind bulletproof glass –

fists pound, faces frown

 

wide-mouthed protests. I don’t hear them;

I am half

 

gone, they are almost memories –

false figments

 

trying to keep me conscious

as I sink beneath sensation

 

to the quickening pulse

awaken

 

shift of sight, fracture night-light

flashes of searing white

 

behind the lids

at the back of the eyes

the out of tune orchestra

wraps around the neocortex

 

blue roots shock the sky

split the dark

 

gravelled roofs roll with rumbling fury

and worlds fold

 

Do the Trees Sway, or Do I?

My mind is everywhere

and nowhere

                              lost and wandering –

                             

absent searches

                  for old friends

                              for…