Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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29 01 2014  


A cool breeze whispers in my ears That I'm radiating things I shouldn't be. I'm burning the coldness of winter Into the smoking hotness of summer. These are signals of a hidden truth Lying low below the surface of my self. I read the traces of carbon marking the sky And realise they are my own. They come from me yet come to me At the same time. What should I think? I cannot tell, so I imagine universes Contained into each particulate of dream. I soar high, drifting away from my cells. I am transformed into multiplicity And I embrace the wind without even realizing. I see my former self below, sleeping, burning, So I meet up with others like me and weep, And weep until my ashes fall down Onto myself Like flakes of snow Covering me with their blackness. A warm breeze whispers in my ears That I'm cooling things I shouldn't be. The sun's come down and light's left me. I'm alone, a black mass of carbon Amidst an ocean of snow, listening To the emptiness of my surroundings. See?