The stacked paper gave off no note, The packs of pens were voiceless. All that was visible around the door, A razor- thin beading of light. Someone went by whose clotted Breathing he recognised But otherwise there was nothing to prevent him Expanding into an infinite dissolve That was the solace he had been after. Now this aberration has hardened into a habit, One he is not prepared to forgo and his sudden Familiar absences are merely how he is these days In the eyes of his staff. He believes he is the only one To have fumbled upon this kind of escape But there are legions like him everywhere, Standing alone for respite in dark places Until they are ready to be seen again.
David Mark Williams first came to The Bakehouse two years ago and took part in a floorspots session. Chrys Salt and John Hudson were impressed with his work and encouraged him to return. He attended the Markings/Bakehouse Exchange of Words workshops and, shortly afterwards, his work appeared in Markings. It is with great pleasure that John and Chrys select David Mark Williams to become part of the forthcoming Markings Mentoring Scheme.
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