hits window glass.
Meshing on like
across the house.
With storm’s fierce life
hardly fell, at all.
As if spray off
breaking waves spat
forth a raging spume.
An insistent liquid voice.
Mass impacts made a
backing track from
(After sleep had closed
this listener’s weary eyes)
Occurred three intermingled dreams:
Of sliding, polished
And somehow writing
Which neared a mirror’s
Since pure reflections
showed in them.
So those who
by word’s song.
Where sensuous feeling
(in a weirdly unharmed state)
did not drown.
Another page of old prose has morphed toward poetry, during editing.
Not sure if it works ( being affected by brain-fog) ?
(Seems I’m going down with a virus…
Aching deeply, all over. Exhausted. Anxious. Depressed.
Finding concentration on words really difficult, at present.
Want to just lie down with a book, or browse someone else’s work.
But, being unwilling to let illness win,
and miss a chance for connection with other bloggers
(especially after 13 days of silence on site)
I am grinding out this post.)
Any art on the blog is mine. Hope you like it?
Comments are always VERY welcome!
Thank you for reading.
( anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / drawing / life / mental health / poem / poetry reading / thoughts / writing )