You can feel the focus make it worse
the explanation, definition
repetition. Panicked eyes a
clarion call
to urgent unpacking, but where? No space.
You’d better get a
mat down, open some
time loops. This
could
take
centuries.
Hop, skip, jump
tip-toed stardancer, soft
a slow trudge
to the station
won’t save you. She never
shows her face, not
to you, not to anyone.
That isn’t part of the game.
Don’t sweat it, sweaty.
It’s Halloween, Samhain, so
many spirals travelled
open-veiled, too many
for such
not to disappear
at these times, a blessed
curse, this year found
many ancestors, too. Last year
you were in the process,
you didn’t dare speak it,
last year was a different thing
entirely, with scope to research,
and you forgot to light the fire.
Throughout life
the repetition intensifies,
so many loops.
You’ve never been here.
This time, an o p e n i n g ,
mucky pupped with
ghouls and white noise
blankets. Follow the star, remembering
how to dance light-footed, shed,
discard, unguarded, fearless.
Space can still be made for this,
in these worldly times of gathering
darkness,
and it must.
The transformation exists,
it is underneath. Its time is now.