Sorting reality isn’t for the sane
but for the ones of us touched
with the gift and curse of madness
for we possess windows into worlds
where the impossible
lives alongside the mundane
and harmony becomes chaos
upon the turning of a phrase.
This is a shifting lettered-land
of sound and memory,
of time loops tumbling
like a winged beast
across purple skies.
Speak silence to find
the door in the horizon,
slipping back once more
onto firmer ground,
hardly missed in the minutes
that have transpired during our conversation.
I am back—
Traveler of Worlds
Absorber of Lives
Keeper of Tales—
resting but momentarily
with cracked spine and manic buzz
shimmering just beyond a forest of words.