UntilLooking for the coldest place in the world
Fumbling lost within chiaroscuro forests made from the ghosts of lost dreams,
Sunken into a moment where all things turn away
Into other mirror sides, living or not, without start or stop, either, or . . .
Behind fitful eyelids, where miniature motions weave their complex dance
Icicle suns and Cupcake moons spin on carousels of madly fluid Light
Disembodied hearts reaching for another part to play only a little while
Remains . . .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2019-07-22 at 11:25
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