Poem
Sublime Disembodiment
The experience of being moved by your own words you didn’t know you wrote
Published in
1 min readOct 2, 2020
Music winds through an open window
imploring, What was it for? But naught
to welcome gusts of open thoughts
Opening synaptic, prising past our mind
rifling to find scraps of sentience blown about
wondering, Were these my words? Did I place them thus?
Breezes shutter memories closed to claim
we can’t remember when or where
we painted selves upon the page sublimely, in repose
The tempest breaks attempts to recognise a face
abeyance in this place of unseen particles
forgotten articles of confederate states
Her torrent is delightful in its frightfulness
perfection in the phrasing of a storm
a page blown now reborn upon re-reading
