Purgatory Calling

Nature303οΏΌ

The essence of the thing stimulated:

Fog; Nothingness; Self,

a vortex of spinning grey.

Time stalled, backtracked, leapt forward,

my eyes uncomprehending

of what other senses detailed.

I dizzied and derailed,

former bluster extinguished;

I was lost.

Purgatory calling, claimed the mist,

and it was, and it did, and it took all of me

even my smile.

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20 thoughts on “Purgatory Calling

  1. Born and raised a Catholic, Purgatory was always a sinister half way house, a nebulous parole, a piss stained bus stop with broken windows that always echoed Bob Dylan’s words about No Direction Home

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