A Land Far Away

*Artwork by Michael Whelan

Today I spent an hour regarding the shapes I can make by connecting the tip of my pointing digit to my thumb. I could make a trapezoid, an approximate circle, but never quite a square. Oh finger and thumb, why do you vex me so?

When I join finger to thumb
And close the loop
No one can see
The space yet left
Hidden betwixt digit and digit

I know there is still space between my finger and thumb, even though they are touching. This seems counter intuitive, but some truths cannot be denied. The more that I squeeze them together, the more I am convinced that there is something keeping them apart. For some reason, I am reminded of a man I once met.

Douay
Greeted me once
And took my arm in his
With spring tides
Departed

I think i've told you this before but you should sit your ass down and force yourself to write a book.
I love reading you.
Everything about it, from the choice of words, formulation of sentences, the atmosphere and themes.
There's always that elusive feeling of depth to anything you write, a feeling that there is a lot more not being told.
You're a talented fella. It's wasteful that there are other mooks out there who write rubbish and you're not doing it.

However, as i'm a lazy bastard I compliantly understand if that is holding you back.

kid wrote:However, as i'm a lazy bastard I compliantly understand if that is holding you back.

It's like you have seen into my soul.

It was my sisters wedding today. It was pleasant. I could not stop pressing my thumb and finger together under the table, nor could I stop myself from looking at them every few moments. I am convinced that if I do this long enough, I will find what it is that is keeping them apart. My childhood sweetheart, Marianne, became quite upset with me for ignoring her. I told her that my hose were itching, and my codpiece ill adjusted. I could not bear her thinking I am deranged.

A
Lie
Spoke
Provides
Sanctuary
Temporarily

She thinks I am deranged. How can I convey to her, what I do not -yet- understand myself? Not only Marianne, but my sister, servants, and neighbors. It is time that I withdraw from this life until I figure this out. Gods willing, I shall not be apart from those I love, long.

There is no greater pain
No greater indignity
Than the wounds
That I inflict
Selfishly
Upon
me

I have locked myself away in the east wing, and sent away all servants bar Herm. I only see him once in the morn, when he brings a fresh pot, and meals for the day. My waking hours are consumed with trying to understand the change I am feeling within myself, and recording the process, in case something awful befalls me. As always, my thoughts are with Marianne.

Removed from
worlds of men
Caged memory
in freed minds

I have become plagued by terrible headaches. For a day and a night now, my temples have been pulsing in time with my heart. Searching for the space between my digits only makes it worse. I am beginning to fear for my health.

Breaking
Within
Broken
Without

I have not slept in three days, and am beginning to see things that cannot be real. When i sit here at the desk the letters and words of poetry I have written swim along and around the parchment, re-arranging themselves into patterns I cannot explain, not describe. Slapping my face to restore awareness sends them scurrying back to their places, but only for a moment. My headache has grown worse. If I do not sleep tonight or have no respite from this ghastly pain in the morning, I will have Herm summon a herbalist.

I dare not write any poetry this eve. For fear it will have run away come daybreak.

The tincture of the poppy sent me into a dreadful reverie. With false pity in his eyes, Herm reminded me that I have not bathed, nor shaven for a week. I reminded him that he is replaceable. Upon finishing the tincture, the headaches began anew. When Herm leaves for the market, I shall bar the door against his return. I can no longer trust the man. How could I not have seen his disloyalty after the last two score years?

Always
Alone
Am
I