\"Cartography of Echoes\"
.....for Tristan R.L.
Beyond the glass of our screens—
where your bold words
crackle like summer storms,
I plot each consonant’s electric arc,
charting your defiance
in starlit constellations.
Between cursor and
keystroke’s muted pause,
I heed your lightning riffs—
a tempest that rattles
the keepers’ gates,
swabbing pews with salted truths.
Your voice, a ferry
slicing through corporate muck,
carries me over ink-swollen waters.
In every raw confession— “unpublishable,” you scoff—
I find harbour for the unsung.
So here’s a stubby torch
in our digital dusk:
an analogue lantern
cutting through pixel haze,
where paper’s grain
and screen’s glow entwine,
and mateship anchors our verse.
To Tristan, whose tempests
reveal hidden shores,
may our shared maps
of grief and grit
sketch fresh constellations
in the void—
where every echo
finally plays its game.
.
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