Category: Writing and Poetry
I have no interest in those things real – those things un real, and those that fall between the lines – i have read what was written – written past and present and that awkward area left blank for good reason -i have lost interest…. perhaps never had a real interest in the reality of this place – in anything i could touch or taste or feel – but only those things beyond tangibilty that scrape the inner lining of meaning and scar memory – oh so gently – so permanently.
People – talk to me - maintain eye contact - I care – i have heard them – have they heard me? They maintain they have – i have said nothing – communicated only the very surface of any thought so far reaching into me like the roots of some mythical rain tree – still they speak of me with such charity – such splendor – they compliment all things i never called by my name….
who is this person – so adored – so appreciated – so loved?
Certainly – she has nothing to do with me….
