Forked / Notes on wellness

by Christos Polydorou

Crystal balls could not
have predicted you,
nor satin sheets, romantically

forked with the meaning of life…
you pass through most places swiftly,
but you’ve seen everything,

and loved it all.
You are a force
of good however

crushing nothing.
Loving everything
and everyone, perhaps

someone will love you too.
You turn your leaves toward
the burning bridges

of love, coyly.
Shyness is an exceptional trick,
sinking within one’s own skin,

before the presence of someone
not even an iota


NB I don’t believe self-negating bullshit actually holds true; we are much more powerful, than we are given freedom and space to know ourselves. On a spiritual level. I do honestly feel that a work of art we might create that adds to tradition, however big, or small, can alter time, and events, and bend history, which is so hell-bent on repeating itself (and it will) however infinitesimally, it is always substantially. I do not feel naïve in feeling this because often this particular feeling that precedes certain writing brief and total writing bouts produces alchemical writing, writing in which I literally get to get a hold of what being human really is. That’s all I want to know, really: the authenticity in the omnipresently felt experience of living.