Moving
obsessively
until
an ache catches up with pace,
moving
and making my heart not pleased.
But
let me go,
let
me stop and start,
no
thoughts,
no
outlines,
against
everything rational /
An
ache.
But
let me move
and
I’ll breathe in time,
I’ll
believe in time,
I’ll
make time, a top spinning inside my palm /
An
ache.
There’s
nothing to explain or say,
words
devoured,
pieces
of a past;
I
was accidentally talking to waves /
An
ache.
What’s
worse than a movement forged?
Nothing,
really.
I’m
that; I’m all it takes solid /
An
ache.
I’m
the light then,
lighter
than mere existence,
everything
and everywhere /
An
ache.
I’m
the air,
just
the air to breathe,
in
and out bodies, hearts – an ache.
I’m
pain concealed,
matured
red wine,
withholding
a taste of bitter experience,
of
someone sending messengers inconceivable,
of
someone paving a return;
glasses
of wine / words wasted / no one’s listening / words wasted / inattentive
attention.
Voices
of an absence,
silence
of the presence,
none
I asked – but the ache; a memory touching the heart, a story-teller, with no
stories to bring back home, a heart, with no pulse to revive, my body,
borrowing breath /
An
ache.
December
2015,
Piraeus.
Photo: December 13th, 2013, St. James Park, London, UK.
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