TENDRILS

Neurons, axons, winter trees,

and the river delta reach for

this moment inside, where my

blood boils and subsides like

steady breathing.

Thought fractals spark and

fire in some random frequency

so a memory of you glitters

past an imagined window frame

to make me pause for this familiar,

bright flash.

Again.

The sound of wind in the rustle

of palms beats a drum of how

it was under the smell of salt, heavy

as time can be in a web of thin

fingers grasping for nothing left

except an absolute vacancy

of memory.

And here on the mother road,

I can breathe and boil in the

notion that nothing exists outside

of me and my brainbox full of

everything I’ve imagined, or

think I’ve imagined, so since I

imagine I think, I can imagine I AM.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

'And here on the mother road,
I can breathe and boil in the
notion that nothing exists outside
of me and my brainbox full of
everything I’ve imagined, or
think I’ve imagined, so since I
imagine I think, I can imagine I AM.'

And there in the end is the many parts and - the whole. Perhaps?
Words, thoughts and inevitablility to consider. Perhaps? Still thinking.

[Vol]

EmmaJoy,
Yes, of course. This was written while I was living alone in the desert, and only spoke to another person once or twice a week.
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

Can only imagine that living that way, a person can discover a great deal about self?

[Ken Simm.]

A very intelligent and I think you would understand electric poem. I enjoyed this immensely.
The various joys of I think solitude.