A Liminal Gyre

so high
a fool like a bird
took flight
on the clouds in his head

a held coin
was the tithe
he would pay
as he waylaid
the realms of the dead

aimless
without a wing
or a prayer

deceiving
my trajectory

out of sight
I called out
for help
and the radio
crackled its key

its voice sang my eulogy

outside
a port in the storm
a response was born
comprised from static

a silent hand
guided me strong
through the fog
of inner panic

there is no
light here
so are we clear
this is not the
place you
want to be

floating high and free
that which you seek
is not
the epiphany
you wanted it to be

somehow I
survived
by the skin
of my teeth

some fool
walking paths
in his head

you called out
for help
while still half-asleep
yet no one remained by your bed

---

Freesound Samples Used:

• 191391__fabiopapa__voice-009