In One Leap – Staffordshire to Devon

It is more than simply talking. It is more than thinking about windows. Picture this, for here is where I’ve been and for all this while. Here is the very place I have recently left.

Here was never. Not settled but for ever similar to seeing through a looking glass, watching for a reflection of the mind. Like someone stretched, this is a faceless portrait, grainy, without grace.

Here I have the look of a gazed being, showing neither contentment or honesty. Here you see no glimmer, no proof of life, no proof other than perhaps a ghostly image conjured out of the realm of a disjointed imagination, A phantasm of proton gradient architecture, being just another needle in just another haystack, stacked at the end of just  another equation. And not even looking like a wordsmith, I command no attention from anyone. I figure in no ones plan. I configure myself in the far corner of existence. I arm wrestle my soul to the ground  every now and again and refract my marrow in Oxygen. This way I am become toxic and reactive even to myself. My words are thus ignited by the passing flow of Consciousness, and the blue flame of delight.

Here is where I am come to. It is not my grave.

©2020 Christopher Thompson (words and pictures). All rights reserved.

Picture 1, Cannock, Staffordshire.

Picture 2, Buckland Brewer, Devon.

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