Thursday, 30 March 2017

1 hundred, 30th March 2017

meanwhile while writing I got lost inside a word..
and that word became another word and that word to became another and another
one begat the next and then the next and then the next and though the word 'next' itself is a good word the word I lost myself inside that became another word and then another then another wasn't 'next'...
what was the word is hard to say now being that it was so way back in the timeaway that I got lost inside a word that became another word and then another that begat another then the next and tossed me flotsam-like as jetsam on this paper shore where every time I wrote with just my finger in the sand that very word the sea came in and duly washed it all away again, every letter of the word grabbed by greedy, grasping waves that if I pause to consider why it could be that the sea is made of lots of words all sloshing round its salty slush having snatched them one by one from shorelines here and there and likely everywhere...
you see, the reason why I've let my mind play tricks on me and you dear reader is simply due to politics and one word to be precise, though not so precise as to tell you what it is for that word has long gone like I say duly washed away as I sit upon this beach one hundred years from now....
but what but what but how, you say, how can I be years from now and writing this to you, clearly this is sorcery or tomfoolery, or perhaps time'foolery who knows for sure for sure I don't and can't give you an answer.....
maybe in one hundred years when you catch me up I'll know and happily impart then and not before.....
but, ah yes, you spied the flaw, one hundred years from now I will be one hundred years hence again and I'll still be scribbling in the sand while the tide duly washes it away........


© robert greig

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