I seem to be eternally self referencing
Only by writing and reading do I see what I was getting at
My pen seems to intrinsically be self-analysing
Rendering in back and white where when with whom I sat
The intricacies of the discussion, what hit me most
The images I absorbed, each couplet a ghost
Of an idea, a picture, the smiles they raised
Something I ran with, someone I praised
Each attempt I launch to jump the frame
Each abstraction, contraption seems to end the same
Anchored to my me by a bungee jump string
Extrapolated to the max, snapped back to earth again
My language my metaphors centre in my Gaia, my me.
For all my running and jumping, Gaia is all I’ll ever be.
(An april-may poem)
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