Lingering too late over the words —
incantations scratched onto these pages,
rubrics drawn from
the topography of my shifting brain —
resisting the allure of veering off
into microsleep in the flames
of whatever whore of a dream
wants to entertain me —
I am reluctant to leave the fading
dopplering echoes of our family departed
to crouch in sleep,
coiled in my impervious shell.
I want to linger here
at the pixellating edges a little
where there is at least a chance
to relish one last tiny echo of
a laugh perhaps, caught, held by
immutable scientific law,
then relinquished by these fabrics,
threads running like mapped roadways
in the multicoloured couches
where we all sat
feasting on each others’ wits
for a few warm weeks
now cooling like roadkill.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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1 Response to Distancing

  1. charlie says:


    I love the notion of the dream as whore… and the “chance to relish one last tiny echo of a laugh…”

    The last lines are killers. There’s such power and poignancy in the way you convey loss. It’s an absolutely brilliant contrast: the bright threads of fabric, of intricacy, of intimacy, the feasting on the warmth and camaraderie of conversation and wit, all measured now against the melancholy of time moving too quickly… and to where? Can we bring it back a little? Restore it a little? Warm it up a little? Cooling roadkill is such a bold and striking image.

    Again, wonderful work.

    Best, Charlie

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