D.J. Sprague

Being a salvage of cancellations and hallucinations, and for the forgotten and misbegotten, a preservation of things muddied, made washed and laid bare against bleached white, seeking far and nearby in an ever''flowing effervescent stream of thoughts and treatments of dream, this spell is something like blowing wind into one''s sails, but into those sails memories past, impel themselves and become more romancing than real. With them I fast from this now enpassing, and feel a sense of going somewhere, but alas, staying put. Time for a little rest from the doubts and fears that un''fettered ''here and now'' compile. So, let the currents of memories past and future aspirations take me where they may for awhile. Cease the wake I make everyday, and let rise what may, as my wake overtakes me under the spell of the seasons through aestival dawns, autumn twilights, and winter nights