TO BE MISSING...TO BE DISAPPEARED

I am missing, I am disappeared. Police are combing the countryside, friends are searching the streets...but I am not there, not here, nor somewhere else. I am, for all intents and purposes, invisible, succoured, shadow. They whisper to me...they always have, shadows and imprints, finger taps and foot shudders. Whether it is the flutter of a leaf or the rustle of an aged newspaper...it's all whispers. I am standing by a tree, I am leaning against a wall, I am in a supermarket queue, I am within realms of vermillion...it's all the same to me. I have lived all of my life with the clashes and crashes of worlds uncounted. I am unsanctioned and unsectioned. There are no limits to reality. A chair and table in a cafe could also be a bank of moist moss, could also be a broken dry plain, could also be the centre of a star. I am scattered and I am cohesive, I am also missing and I am disappeared. We are angels and gods, demons and creatures. No one knows us, no one cares. To slide between oblivion and exaltation, between damnation and rapture, is to be missing and to be disappeared.