The author composes an homage
to a self who sings and sails
on the great game of once upon a time.
I am a sailor. I sing to excess.
I am as perverse as degenerate art.
I typecast myself across digital space.
I am ageing with the superrich.
We go way back to the Ancients.
We even go to the same gym.
I sketch a shoreline, slowly
lifting the world, so it has days and
very soon the smell of lavender.
I ‘feel’ no separation between
aspects of my contents, a century
of classes, visits and titles. I feel intact.
My wounds reoccur in name only
where an encyclopaedia expands my body
until it touches the whole world.
I am also linked without proof
to my disappearance at lunchtime.
I summon a .wav file, and I sink.
A jaw-dropping way
to hide in continuous desire.
I am thrown into a fate where
I become an anonymous user with
a span of life as long as noon.
I am as calm and confused as the sea.
I signal with my hand.
I think it’s a natural gesture.
A voice mirrors, so I speak
English. I feel any other school of
thought will try to silence me.
The feel of a daydream is like
the feel of a ripple in the ocean.
I am a ship in distress at sea.
I cry for mankind.wmv
If you enjoyed this piece, buy the issue