The Missing Pieces


Colin Dardis







life’s a jigsaw

            no picture on container

            to tell where pieces go


all you      can      do

is slot in each day as it comes

and hope that it builds

           to something

resembling a life.









you’re a spy in your own land

where memories            are microfilm

and there’s double agents


ready to profiteer over you

                                           r two cents


your codename:








No one comes to hand

to hand you that envelope

telling you your future;

                 cannot foresee

if you even got out alive

                 all the soothsayers

                 and mystics

blow hard, yet

                                    no oxygen

in their kiss







sometimes you’re cut string

                sometimes you’re the knot between


two other lives:

vital disturbance

along otherwise rectilinear roads



until they get to you



through others, we find


a speed bump

a stop sign     a fork

a limit     a direction     a destination








house of schisms

house of whispers

house of jubilant lovers

house of jealous spies

house of mystery to all but one

house of only exit signs

house of foreboding

house of bestial claim

house of the higher conscience

house of missing brick

house of death camp renegades

house of the holies

house of holes

house of darkness

house of light

house of (muscle) tone

house of rigidity

house of a thousand fingers typing as one

house of counterpoint

house of thesis, antithesis, synthesis







the truth is: everyone kills


with their little acts of observation

              changing quantum levels

of unknown worlds,

create fragmentations


immeasurable within

mere    organic     scale


         our words:       energy

         our eyes:          a dish

         our minds:       everything


         and yet

so much nothing to mourn







nothing to mourn


ultimate freedom


ultimate futility


find meaning


             go forth


and multi         play









Colin Dardis is a neurodivergent poet, editor and sound artist, based in Northern Ireland.  His latest collection is Endless Flower (Rancid Idols Productions, 2021).  Colin Dardis is online at



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