It doesn’t matter

how deep I read,

I don’t understand.

So far in,


the words might be some

long-dead language.

I ask the follow-up questions,

requisite to my investigation,

but I’m left

as obtuse

as I was in the beginning.


Make things straight,



with my polar North.

I can’t evade

the feeling

that I’m going off course.

I can’t read the maps,

or see the stars.

We keep moving,

but I can’t say

where we are.


The land is strange,

not the same place

I was raised.

There’s an acute feeling

there are sides falling away.

Walls closing in,

making me wish

for better days.

Surrounded by protection,

not out in the way.


Moving now,

I’m sure that I recognise this.

Been here before,

this sense of danger,

the feeling of something amiss.

I can’t tell

if I know you,

or myself.

This mad cycle;

a serpent that’s eating itself.




something familiar.

That sweet,

cold rush

of understanding.

Triangulate my place

in this illusion.

Finding me,

finding you,




HG – 2020

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