ST74 ... Poem from just above the ground
i am a restless writer.... i write with a broken language.
i am a restless writer i can twist words in on themselves stretch paragraphs for no reason i can sing syllables into existence force letters to fall broken with light i write for no one and see with a single eye i am ready within the wind with another spinning dice i am an illusion, a veil, a shimmering light my name is Hidden, 'protector of the thin' i traveled through seven dimensions to see your face, here, within i am a writer, i write with a broken language a crippled view across the land i am a saviour hiding in the lowlands i own no answers for any one with a song sung from eternity and a simple kiss flying thru the night I am a writer, i write long and tender thru the haze of belief and the dazzling distance i am you as you are me trapped in words free, free to see 'minds that think they know our hearts needs with wired words, connected watching truth fade thru that dark space between' i am a writer of tattoos of epitaphs and numbers i am a man with no home, no name in your streets under your roads i am your brother mistaken for another i am a writer of rust and flowers
I have been on your doorsteps with flannels and words peddling and peeling screaming, whispering, and flying through the ruins i am a writer of miracles and drowning souls faint flakes of snow and flames across valleys, low i write of walking to another shore where dreams meet and wounds awake that clear and tender space where ends die and recreate 'skulls frozen across the plains words trapped inside clausal closets electric volts stuffed in dreams waiting for a great writer to explode from the hells of mediocrity where fear slips back against where walls of broken beauty, sins' i am a writer i write as the day breaks as it sits still as it folds into the night i have no ambition to awaken you i breathe words like a train sucked into a station than disappearing down tracks of fading time.
Buy me an americano !
WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
Hang Me Up…. Images
If you’re wandering around down here amongst these paragraphs and rusted trains, say hello, hit a link, crack a button. Dragging words thru this swamp, can drown you, if your shoes are heavy….
I like your writing, sometimes a lot, but your photography--now that takes things to the NEXT level.