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XTREME! | Poetry

The Shore I Walk: Photography by Shawn Michel de Montaigne





A quiet space like that garden.

Like that neighborly breeze.

Like that breath of uncertain air. Like night’s grainy stillness.

Like the swath of various green shimmering under diamond sunlight.

Like home.


There the deepest currents reach for me.

Air and flight and drowsy contentment

press and reflect, sometimes wavily:


   —reflect—darkly

        —reflect—wetly

              —reflect—hungrily

                  —reflect—temperately


Temperately? Does that seem too mild?

You don’t do mild, I know.

It’s for the aged and the infirm,

for those who ignore the commercialization

of extreme (XTREME!) culture and its childish

hypersexualized fascinations and perversions.


The thing is, you can’t hear past the din.

Especially inwardly, where you and your being

remain estranged.


Tame and lame.

I can hear you now.

Actually no, I can’t.

Your society is drowning you out.

I can only see your mouth moving.

Are you talking or trying to vomit?





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From Fractalverse: Volume Three

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Featured: The Shore I Walk, by yours truly