date: 2019-10-01 title: “Inktober 2019 #1 - Poem and snippet courtesy of Lorxus”
A year starts not on January first.
The days may hunder but the seasons speak
of time's long march, of fast time, slow time. Thirst
for "start" and "end" neglects the limen sleek.
So, why do some unsubtle sciences
forget about the in-betweens? Those pure
uncolored dreams made mere contrivances;
"between the years" now simply: "year, then year".
These rough mechanics, held unseen, can spoil
the beauty of our silent spaces, take
from us the liminality, embroil
our lives in cold and tired minutiae.
Come sit with me, come stay with me inside
this place between where strange new loves abide
ยง
“So, what does it mean?”
She shrugged and sipped her tea. They sat together in silence for a while.
“There’s something about the liminal that terrifies me.”
"Me too," she said...