Making sense

I saw a jerky film of me: b&w,  slow   frame   rate;
out of context, out of time

I was hewing like an artisan:
iron-bound to closely-drawn detail
through handles grafted in my skin –
exercising agency…
as if that would decipher hell;

Staring, puzzled, across the dislocation
(How had I flown across it?)

To see beyond a darken-glass:
where webs of speculation crystallised
from 2, or maybe 3, firm points of data –
liminal, then clarified…
fine patterns filigree from air;

How had I flown across that gulf
not once but many times?

Face to face

Far from home’s secure chimera
I walked into a room, reluctantly, to face cacophony
(comprised, however, largely of indifference);
imagining I’m branded otherwise
beside the marks of humdrum bourgeoisie –
Berghaus, Next, Levi’s – I wear as emblems day-to-day;
feeling as if the lines anxiety has scratched
around my eyes were welling blood