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

Read the rest of Overland 244

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