(((written language is my primary weapon. i can craft
poems, essays, and letters by second nature, as if
i’m listening for dictation from wise ghosts.)))
no siblings, no parents. many cousins and friends,
all adults, far away with families of their own
(and it’s not like we’ve anything new to say).
i might be invited to a party. and even then,
i’ll sit – quiet, uneager to communicate
(or, ah, er, hmm, stutter, cough, nope.)
i was too old for small talk (those
questions leading to more
questions) decades ago
(((my secondary weapons are music & swordsmanship:
both disciplines maintain the wiring in my head: so,
everything i do is a defensive performance.)))
my mind is somewhere by the blue-black at the edge of
our atmosphere; i didn’t mean to leave others behind.
i didn’t think to take much with me.
i don’t know if i’m happy, but at the end of
my last line… i’ll at least be at peace with
myself.
:
:
~A.
dreamlogs & other ephemera 