Yet to cross over that border,
yet to descend to the stream
where a chaos of bile-green disorder
is subsumed in an authorless dream.
This riverside of fragmented consciousness
stares blindly where the wild currents roil
and wind in spirals of despair, hear distress
call a blind terror washed in the moil
boiling against banks shearing
the commonsense of contiguity,
revealing a disunity in direction,
appealing the flow of oblivion.
This is where I stand wracked with
indecision, stranded in the schism
of what I know and where I must
go to be free of pre-ordained ideas.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-02-04