A Working Digression



I work the dark seam, between what is and what won’t be, just beyond the siren’s call.

I weave a net of time around catastrophe while awaiting a morning I am afraid to look in the eye.


These days, I dream of tunnels…where they start, where they end.

The limbo between two points seems soothing and teaches me secret things.

Ancient proverbs, modern curses and what to do with my hands.


I mine my past and future, my joys and frustrations, the rage of equanimity.

I seek the precise moment that unrelenting pressure turns darkness to diamond, bright and hard and forever.

The alchemy of souls.

The hemlock of Socrates.


I work the dark seam

and plead like hell for dawn.


1 Comment

  1. This one has the flavor of sharp truth for me, shivering over my skin, broad brushstrokes of resignation and unease.

    I keep saying this, I find, but this one could be published. It’s very, very good.

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