when am I in a raging sea

when am I in a towerless keep

you see the armies flanked around him

labelled with exactness

when am I on a mountain ledge

when am I on a broadsheet

a dozen more of liberty

a number for the free

when am I by solitude

when am I by genocide

walking through my lonely streets

I ask

when am I by me

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The Collector (Roget’s Soliloquy)

In my book……..

Words – so simple in their sound

they fall like snowflakes on a lake

and interlock their unique form

until the water gives way to their power,

becoming something bigger,

something cold and hard and beautiful.

Or a flame, just a spark at first

until the kindling catches and the embers

jump from t...

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