Peak Out

Jo Freehand, Nr.248Collage from Jo Freehand, from her Daily Record 365, No. 248.

Under the surface, the mucus ain´t new, it´s all chewed up. The crazed gue smells of putrefuction why not. It´s my election.

Used to it not noticing. Normal. Fifty already yet looking through glue. Nothing new.

  Air becomes rare these days. Under the surface is left a bit , and staring out keeps me fit.

 Hunger.  Need to inhale.

 The fish spells a wish. I want a dish.

Ready for the other side, ready for the outer sight. Ready for the birdie sight!

And out peaks the peak, the peaking won´t end.

Maybe I´ll die in my nest and transcend.


While editing this  poem, which has been written two days earlier, on 25.2.15., my mind was on the collage of Jo Freehand shown above.





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