Mental Order

Creases in my shirt, 

 the face of an old man -- maybe Rorschach. 

Or a miracle.

Aging

She fears that her changing body will keep me away 

but it’s this very obsession of her 

that leads me astray

No Form

White patches, magical formations –

but grey haze

when passing through

Absurdity

Floating like a dandelion

can’t penetrate the gust --

will I ever reach the ground?

Illusion

No pictures, letters, words on my screen –

only coloured pixels

for my mind to transform.