I thought I knew where I was.
Lost. In a known destination
a substation of understanding.
Not of senses;
or scent,
for that is subjective.

Lost in a swirling sea, a typhoon of. No.
say so
and do so
and be so,
of words I understand alone
but cannot assimilate
in concert with the rivers prismatic flow.

Not a lack of understanding just a lack of knowing.
Furry words that slink and rub against my middle mind
and leave indelible impressions but not those defined

by the better minds
or lesser minds
or other minds.

I drown in the flow of screaming and swirling and possibility

My own screaming muted
by a voice in constant flux.

Is meaning fluid or fixed?
Is apple
a fruit?
Or a symbol?
Or industry?
Desire for skin or plastic?

Man I sometimes have to interpret my own words
heard and forgotten in the flow of sound and thought
a rainbow river of images and sounds

that spark tears
and smiles
and fear
and highs.
In which I become lost.

©Dave Kavanagh 2016

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