Dec 1, 2017 · 2 min read

This flight is full. Covering the floor with shadows. Clouds like mountains in the distance. Throw glass into the room.

Sliding screens. Transparencies. Body heat. Textured light. Voice pitched low.

Beat, the river against rocks. The ocean in your head. Sitting down. Movement. Life in the middle of your furniture. Architecture of space. Shapes in negative relief. Stereography. Everything is really upside down. Seeing without seeing how you’re doing it.

Crystal grabs the chandelier. She has hit her head on it too often. She peers into it, discerning purpose with intent. The world is not her enemy. That is hard for Derek to accept sometimes, but she likes to keep an open mind. Maybe yes, maybe no.

If the world is made subjectively, then she wants to be on the right track. Careful what you think. Actually, it’s the dreaming that can do you in. Yes, it can make you fly; it can also pull you from the sky, if you haven’t got the discipline to resist your urges for self-sabotage. We are our own enemy. A house divided. Which could be the necessary fault of a house to begin with. How else could it come together?

That’s the gesture we are looking for. Being social, as we are. Derek, maybe not so much. He is antisocial to her hyper-social. A dialectic. A relationship. Standing in flux. Small rocks on the riverbed, pushed forward and eroded by the flow. Dynamic. Difference isn’t disagreement. Rhythmic syncopation. Harmony is polyphony. The sound of water playing with the ground sound and the rhythm of the sky. Music.

Thunder. Lightening. Torrents. Earthquakes. Hurricanes. No need for shouting. As yet.

Calm, the afternoon to evening shift. The turning of the sunlight dimmer switch to chill.

There’s a window in here somewheres. And the sound of red bleeding out into the silver clouds fading.

What is out there is a story, makes them feel like they are somewhere now. Conceived.

These Are Not Words

poetic writing & photos by michael boyce


Written by

Poetic writing & photography by Michael Boyce, author of 2 novels: Monkey & Anderson — both from Pedlar Press. Currently working on his 3rd.

These Are Not Words

poetic writing & photos by michael boyce

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