wispy mountain
It is not the greatest fear perhaps that has come
true but maybe he had to face the facts
as he had turned blue…
That in those spaces too,
walls of texts
parachuted to sombre sets
quite ill in online outlets.
It is not quite the same as real life touch,
yet the corners are cut from similar stones,
even here he is alone. There is a certain type
of awkwardness that he hates
and there is no
overcoming it:
The mountains of words that are spent.
Even here he feels drowned, and it sinks
in as he sinks into the ocean of figures
and fluffy skies as well.
It would be better to chase rainbows than
to rest at the meaningless station
where cobwebs dance with dust.
Yet even in the firm mind there can be desolation.
Perhaps the trick to trap it in tickles of lattice
other than just be at it is to let thorns pierce through
and to keep words flowing too.
As a child in the small canyon,
calls to himself.
Call out. Yes, call out.
worthy mango