Lost in my chiaroscuro world I cannot be followed No-one knows my secret language No-one knows my passwords or my frames of reference Everything said, is coded.
In desperate times speech becomes pure sound rhythmic and completely foreign People can make out words but they have no context
George, Jean, Martin Arthur, Margaret Names like rays on a compass They were my world of visible magnetic forces I could no more abandon them than rearrange the continents.
But you can learn when the old geography is too painfully familiar not to abandon it But simply invent a country of your own.
A landscape beyond maps, compasses and sextant Beyond a dictionary of common usage and invented diction.
You can search but the unseen patterns of dreaming are as easy to find.
Isolated, distant language fractures and returns to you words are breaking the barrier reef an exile in a shadow land.
The damage grows inside sensed but unseen seeping into crevices like moss and lichen gripping spreading and creeping a spiked vine flaring down to the tongue.