Around me they’re piled,
sentences on paragraphs amid cadences,
contexts, rhythms, and pyres
of words.
I’ve waded in, tossed aside,
dug deep under torchlight blaze.
They’re subtle, obtuse, shaded,
obvious. I’m oblivious
to the meaning, always,
at first read,
bewitched as I wander,
hearing voices.
“amid cadences, contexts, rhythms, and pyres” Wow– that is so yummy. I want to walk around my house repeating it so I can crunch the sounds around in my mouth.
Thanks for sharing!
I sure recognize this. Though my version of this would not be about wandering through words but about lying in bed with them piled up and spilling off all the surfaces around me. Dangerous, even, to step on the floor in the dark for fear of sliding on slippery words.
bewitched as I wander..
love that.
and that you wandered over to my darkish sentiment yesterday , thank you. Feeling strangely over the top hormonal these days of getting to middle age.
Cindy, thanks for reading and munching.
Interesting, Fresca, because I think it’s ideas that encroach when I’m in bed; the words arrive in the morning. But I like continuing these mind-pictures.
Oh, Deb, this space in time is darkish often; maybe you’ll get used to it, because I find fuller insights, somehow, in the dimness.