I dreamt a line

rode the consciousness

with feathered fingers

nimble rhetoric of fluid syntax


trickled in the fleet of now


my fleshy frame — a lightening rod

a filter for projecting

taking in electricity: to build a crater

where truth’s conveyed over ridged towns


or something weighing on my shoulders

guilt or gloom or love or glee

it’s spilt and branded with the scent of me


the sluice cannot contain the flood

where streets once sweltered

under fire hydrants, wrenched

to an open jetstream

taken on by lucid musings


– PwD 2018


Inspired by line from a lecture:

“poetry is a very shy animal 

and it comes only if you stand still for it”

– Gwyneth Lewis





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