When I was younger, I would write very long stories. I learned by doing this. I also had a ‘wordy head’ connected to lots of thoughts. Now, I want simplicity. To use less words while still expressing those thoughts. I don’t want to follow rules. Formulas are boring. I want to feel what I write. And experiment. Always.
Do you experiment within the work you do?
A man is born on an amber sea
set adrift in a boat built from hope
towards a dark island on this cold ridge of morning
where his world is a glossary
stitched and bound with ragged cloth beneath mounds of paper.
A rumpled sheet
a metal chair
peeling paint on the wall.
His world is grieving but to him life exists
remnants floating while the rain dances
early spring at the door
silken moon in the window
a soft tattoo of light falls helpless
woven through rumors of dust and blood.
No gods come for him
angels do not speak his name
what is permanent are relics, fragments of who he was
the words he has spoken and abandoned
his fleeting glimpse into the serenity of chaos
and when he dies there is no one to mourn.
‘I have heard that ghosts can live again
as vapor downtown
flowing like liquid silver
as they move through empty houses
on lonely streets
in stories told now forgotten.’
‘Liquid Silver’ (c) 2022 Deborah McMenamy
All Rights Reserved