Stitch This

I look through my emails.

They scatter through space,

Breadcrumbs.

The twisting route to show the way i have been,

The tributaries that twine together and ply their way

Through needles and rocks and over flat plains of solitude,

Lapping me now.

Not waiting for permission as they crackle in the dark.

Night mode not made for this dark boldness.

Print pressed onto my skin,

Tissue,

Paper and new metal bones

Fit so well in this black,

Though not in the pink.

And so i think

And plan

And reshape the hard matters,

As if i could just do that.

And, as guided by silent and strong unknowns

I search and seek for any clue

That there is more to what i do,

Or was

Or could be,

I wake to bells that shake the dust, the heavy metal,

The sleep of safari habits.

And slowly the indigo smiles into blue into clear

And eyes flit open

And day is here.

Again.

My friend.