Terminal Musings

Finding my way

The Made

We make,
And in making find
The made but a pale imitation
Of that Object in our mind

September 29th, 2014

I Dream

I dream of roads,
of miles ahead without a light;
of long grass on a broken shore –
dancing, whispering,
alive in the lim’nal light.

I dream of silence.
No sound about or talking heads –
no radio voice.
Just the pistons’ beat and a mind ajar;
wind swirling in my emptiness.

I dream of smoke,
in fluid motion – beauty transient! –
in form one second,
shattered next;
no memory of its ever present.

August 11th, 2014

Prosaic

“I’m so cold – I’m putting my hands above the stove to get them warm.”
“Mmm. Don’t burn yourself.”

Sometimes – just sometimes – I can be incredibly prosaic.

August 10th, 2014