"Each place its own psyche./
Each sky its own blue."
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David Abram
Long Night Ahead: Poems and Art from the Line Club
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How I Died
Earth's skin rose and fell before me.
All is change, the ocean whispered,
sucking back to bare its bones,
filling the bowl again.
I said, So much unsettled
and set out to wander
the back roads of psyche,
tenements of memory,
translating a work
whose form was as large as its contents.
My arms weakened, shoulders melted,
feet grew distant,
I resumed flying low over town.
Then--only my heartstrings,
radiant consciousness all I could bear.
