Ghostword Graveyard [poem]
[Dedicated to the memory of all the poems that
I thought of in the night which I didn’t record]
if the brain is space infinity
and I owned an endless spaceship
then I could float
and thus rip free
that verse
which I dreamed
in my half-sleep’s
amnesiac sea
millions of words go down that black hole
etheric anodyne limbo
apparently
(devouring reams)
there’s some
secret place
which has kidnapped
our obstinate dreams
what if texts in that ghostword graveyard
assembled themselves into prose
unjumbled scripts
spontaneously
writing
phonetic
filigree maze
unflinderingly
maybe obsession will bring recall
searching for clusters lostingly
my brain a disk
with errors made
repairs
carried out
completion of
my wordly crusade
my mindfulness craves for that ether
where books whirl around on the breeze
lost in a space
forgetness-shaped
create
mega-tomes
form steppingstones
to my dream[e]scape
somnial processes seize my mind
analogue lithographs littered
with storylines
book jamboree
not just
a single
binding I see
but myriadly!
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 