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                                                                                    in  verse
                                                                                    m a r k ?

when I try to make my play I am wronged even while I am preparing while the
whole world shuffles and shifts slightly uncomfortable (although bravely
facing up to the gloopy mauve-olive snot of ‘we’re all in this
together’) while easing my offer carefully to one
side I am rendered ‘by the way’ and always
find myself on the other side of ‘how
things are’ ‘just one of those things’
‘how things are done’ ‘things have
changed’ I will never play my make
I have tried to make it play for all my
wilful life strung along by ‘maybe this time’
but only gathering ‘it’s not what we need’ to my
identity face it, boy, I will never be needed and I’ll never
find the party I should be where I am and not try to make the play
where each attempt mirrors me back fractured.   I should dwell apart whole …





being & settling wormhole: tired
doing wormhole: practising
identity wormhole: and
life wormhole: update
mauve wormhole: Infantino world
mirror & olive wormhole: still waving!
samsara wormhole: Have what, now?
society wormhole: Child of Illusion
voices wormhole: only
world wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually