Palimpsest

I Know The Way.

Time, age, infirmity:

They seem to be conspiring

All these arrows in the quiver of my enemy,

To bind me and to blind me

And to limit my options,

To temper my whims

And rein in my wayward nature.

And so,

I live a life that is subterranean,

Mostly hidden from view 

Beneath the very gaze

Of those who seek me.

A giant web of ghostly white mycology

That roils unseen beneath the surface

Of this smooth and deceptive landscape 

And interconnects all things.

A life that occasionally raises an inquiring stem

From a sea of chaos and confusion,

Then spreads a cap

To breathe the air and launch their spores

And judge the temper of the land.

I am directed to something I cannot see

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹ℴ ℐ 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹？

I don’t have words to describe it.

Yet I’m driven to words like an addict

Getting that first taste of something really good.

That trap is well set.

That path is well trod.

And I know the way.

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