KIRK LAFFERTY

I am just the voice My body left earlier Over time I discarded the parts They were starting to malfunction anyway My mind was overloading So I shut that down too Sometimes I would try to find the pathways to use it again But it evaded all attempts to be found Then I was As I am now Just the voice Sound waves in the ethos With the lack of the mind What cannot be processed Can never be wrong I am spoken but not remembered Living only ever in the moment Shouted   at times Caught silent in the wind in those moments between I do get noticed Then people turn my way And look right through me Noticed no more I am the words They thought they heard But when they look Even of that they are no longer sure It makes them wonder if there was anyone there in the first place Putting down the voice to just a figment of their imagination And that moment when everyone stops listening I am the voice No more.

It’s a deafening roar the cicadas shuffle, echoing out across Western Park. Here in nature's morning, I expected silence, away from the cities drone. What I got was Gaia shouting louder than cars. A ball of fluff rides the breeze across in front of me unidentified in its origin, maybe a dogs shedding coat, possibly a duvet inner or violence ripped  jacket. Artificial or not it seems to belong, while it still dances just for me. But then it settles beside cigarette butts, pie wrappers and empties. The breeze drops letting the acrid smell of urine permeate upwards. At this moment the cicadas are alone in claiming back this patch of nature, from drunks spoiling exercises the night before. Raising the question, Whose park is it anyway? Who is to say another's freedom through the dark hours was not it's intended use  Then the breeze returns, and on it floats away my dancing fluffball. Shards of light break through, looking all biblical