a moment of detachment

i stopped having tea last month but have had
a lapse only once, I am cutting down on caffeine,
on sugar, on white carbs, on the world I see,

a capricious mood is hanging on my window,
dry flowers stuck to the shade, coloring the sun
that makes its way in, I don’t feel but smell warmth
tingling my nostrils, I sneeze out despair and
set up a guest room for the spring to rest and stay.

flames flicker on my skin, I don’t mind being burnt
by the season that lasts but as long as I close my
dry, lifeless palms, a few rhetoric seconds of delay.

i stopped being stopped for a day, and it felt strange
and yet not in a positive way, the birds shall fly
to the lands new, talk to strangers familiar, I stay.

.

For dVerse Poetics, where we are writing to the art of Danny Gregory.

I am on Instagram. You can find me at mypeculiarself.

a story circles seeking an end

the rise and fall of a dog’s paws as it leaps

through the night, beneath the chill settling

on the shoulders, the summer drawing to

a close, an ending of all that enraptured

my thought, the fire extinguishes again in

the pinch of my thumb and forefinger, time

seems to be turning on my path again, I

can smell its perfume, a plot of my dreams

a movie seen on the TV one lone morning

the past tingles my skin and I wink, repeat

the steps once traversed, crumbling beneath

soon the land will run out and a trench formed

and a true end that be, the black dog heaves,

my feet take me to places unknown (yet known)

ubiquitous eyes trace all that happens, that is,

the fates die by my touch, diffusing into the blurs,

I turn into an Effigy, the moon howls, dreams sleep

.

Image source

The writer has the right to tell his tale in symbols.The reader has the right to see through those symbols as a part of his own tale.