Torsade Literary Space

Ghost trees


The undertone and half-tone of every shadow

Leads the eye astray

Your bread has taken on a grey hue

Your milk and eggs

Your shirt and shoes

Like clouds against the greyer backdrop of the grey sky

Offset softly not too harshly

Whatever the ground contains lives here indifferent

Overdressed but inert as stones

Less alive than tree roots

Yet here peace is imposed

You never breathe because the air is filled

A story in spontaneity

A trip, a purchase, a hug, a conversation, a reaction, a misunderstanding

Unkempt, propelled by a coat sleeve

Wandering through bright crowds disappearing

And stopping here where nature is permitted


That you a seaborne larva in the deep might trawl

And beam light to the sky

Where the God-like eye assumes

Nothing here is deified

Defile perhaps the chakras

A grubbing finger flays the spine

The nervous twitch of modern life is only…

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