SNAKES AND LADDERS

HARRY JANS

The smell of paper on the breath of my eyes, skimming words like a stone on water, and when it sinks my eyes hold tightly, then they recall they have no lungs. In fact, they more closely resemble an auger. And so, I release, I realise; come from a sprint, down to a saunter. Remember, blinks are just as likely To expose the rungs betwixt the comments of every author.

Although I may scale them many times, I know I’m not discovering, just an explorer. I want my stone not used contritely, so, I harmonise what’s already

sung, and I set my stone in place with mortar. Then, I slither back down the scales, and I re-scale the tillering text, I make like an amnesiac, hope that my soupy brain never forgets. I blink my eyes and wake my mind.

Defrost, reheat my state of torpor. Though I’ll slide back down from time to time, it doesn’t mean I can’t climb taller

with every ladder that I will find, while the snakes take me the former.

Each square that I move between will never again be called, “Square One’, But I’ve come to respect the fact that they don’t have to always move in order, Because that’s all that can be done.