FRAGMENTED NARRATIVE
COME, The poet is seeking to reveal the secret beauty of his artistic soul, Allow him to offer, at some deep unexplored level, a window into his heart, The poet invites you to gracefully drape one of your legs over the other, And listen to the poet’s whispered words as they float up to you like ghosts in an ancient forest. THIS POET, His peace is shattered, Fleeting images flood through his mind, fussing like a broody hen, Or like a gust of arctic wind that bursts in and blows out all the candles when the door cracks open, Passionate longings leap up to hug his heart, Distant voices appear, ebb and then appear again, Questions intrude, gnawing provocatively at his heart, His mind is pulled towards rockier shores, Easily bruising the poet’s raw emotions. TO ESCAPE THE EMOTIONAL PRISON, I tend to sit in silent presences, Silent presences that elicit neither passion nor fire in the veins, I tend to wander off on solitary walks, Along the tremb