I am a vexed engineer: my ‘smoke encrypted whispers’ faded toward the obscurity of spectral encrypted echoes … Ghost-editing over old ground … Discovering that my words previously published were morphing into crawly-little arachnoids and flies, attacking one-another … All the shiny sentences I had orchestrated were like buttons on a favourite shirt that were gradually popping off and lost; one after the other … If only I could rearrange the mottles of spiderwebs that tarnish and choke inspiration … To regain love that has not been usurped … To look at the abyss of night again and only see something terrific and omit the terrifying … To walk away from the scarlet glare of a blood moon and catch the lost tail of a random comet, as it reveals the path for gently losing oneself in an infinite cleansing …

A mind de-misted
in the wake of a clear night,
shooting star kisses …

Read the rest of Overland 240

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