The story changes as you live through it. The story is always one step ahead and is patchy at best.
You watch the air floating around and see some things that fade off and somethings curiously forming.
The shadows are lit dimly, but it’s not by the cold light that cast them. That light is from broken prisms of a more ambiguous source.
Then there’s the silver starfish on my finger. I put it there last December.
And so the story goes on.
I had a feeling
And it meant more to me than dreaming.
So I went out in a grey coat
To find a piece of the puzzle
And the trees clouded the moon from view.
It was a world full of oysters, spoilt for choices,
Not engineered by a human soul.
A moth fluttering at bright light
Blow fire in my face.
Caught again in a harsh cold place.
I had walked on Callisto.
My footprints were soot dark thoughts.
Diamonds formed in the strangeness,
Way beyond the sphere of control.
It had always seemed as though turning a corner
The splendour would open up before me.
Threading pearls on a string of long held hope.
Spreading moonbeams across a sky of bottled up smoke.
A tiara of stargems light the stillness of trees.