Stepping into and out of ... sixth sense, pineal gland
an outer moulding in which I, striving in the internals, find a path
squirming and shimmering with rigorous form -- from hopping bar to bar
on the climbing frame of learning --
sprawling.
am i the product STOP the end and start of whats gone before STOP
movement in stasis STOP constantly saying sorry
START:
Bodiless on the shore devoid of company drowning in presence
we I swim in water of a dream sensation, waking,
recall only emotion and the faces in the rock.
I laid my palm on the contours one side complete one,
dissipating, perfect profile rising and falling in stone,
swim to the other side and find what chaos wrought --
generation of faces -- I can't read the writing. Erode.
Genetic containment. Sometimes I scream and sob because
I've stopped growing.
Last night I felt awe -- nature's peopled landscape -- bloodless,
beauty you'd think, but an ominous undertone. In my
DIY post-waking analysis it symbolised my Medusa fear;
that as I traced the sculptures in stone, thousands in islands
at sea, I may have had my reflection cast back at me and be trapped
in my own stare. The inevitable lunar pull
the greatest fear; would any wanderer care to find my image there ...
