Splinters (I-III)


Gymnastics of the brain

Bending around depressive lump

Avatars and faces disfigured, mixed up.

Animus N (form of Ash) dances in the ocean. Completely out of character and yet inevitable, as all things are in this place. A serious tone with a playful finish, as though folly would be the only [forceful] eternal survivor.

The blood that runs through us both is the same; mirrored.

I think of mercury and then Mercury and then Mercury.

And then I remember the sea, just as the sea remembers me.

The sound of emergency

Creates a crack [to fill with gold].


Fashion the place.

Tempo was always a sticking point. Just can’t get used to it only flowing one way.

Notes on a phone don’t matter.

But what does it mean?

Matter and meaning

Drown in smart technology

Run into the mouths of beasts.

A young psychiatrist

Wants to get inside your head.

Like he knows how.

Like anyone knows how.

Only poetry can really breach.

Chew it up, spit it out [slowly].

Drag, trails, markers.

Musical motifs woven through time.

I’m so glad I found this.



It’s choppy at sea.

Animus N weaves his magic.

Reconnects to fire.

We are music and blood

[and ash]

Roman numerals.

All the I’s.

Sure, they’re connected

Beneath the surface

Or, in the mirror, on the surface.

Little splinters

Hurt your palms

But the salty sting

Keeps our tread.

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