Matt Clark Poems

I walk the stagger to my line;

uneasy and anxious, I do not show it.
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The wind, and all its wisdom aspires to speak to me. Inspiring me unspokenly, it dances around me. Before unsalutatiously chasing the sunset. It leaves with me a euphoric spark of realisation, an epiphanic lapse of ecstasy. That soft current generously accompanies my ephemeral state of transcendent awakening, procrastinating its departure.

It sailed whole oceans, traversed whole continents, brushed over whole forests, stirring up pink whiffs of cloud the whole way. It whistled through the leaves. Across the blades of earthly epiphytes on its long journey, determined and efficacious in its intent.
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