Fading like cheap fast fashion finds at the laundromat It is comforting to listen: Consistent squelching and intermittent beeping Facilitate the end. I'm wrung tense and left to dry in my own time, ruffled, wrinkled, and discoloured.
The essence of my soul wanes in anticipation. I am enchanted by the wake of slumber's grace and the slowness of the riverbed. The lighthouse flickers in erratic speech, prickling anti-tendrils through the fog And I lay with meekly outstretched heart within its depths.
It is not the lapse of time But the intensity of feeling that defines You and I Nor is the proximity At which we exchange Our accented vowels a measure For I need not taste your breath To know your closeness. Rather It is the way your image illuminates my screen - Your pixelated person… Continue reading Skype
I dream of far flung places – the recesses of my memories – old cornered crooks of dusty hardback books cataloguing misspelled spaces and smells of Annalise. In January she smelled of February, was swatches of the sunshine and paint chips of witty quips I’d use to brush my cheeks though I’d rather stain… Continue reading Annalise
It swallowed me all red and yellow And flickered back a feathered grasp It shone through bold and broken cracks And felled me by the shallows It swam by me And clung to me And it embraced me, dark and green I tasted rust and black topography And sunk beneath where I’d once been.
You are the origami craftsman cleverly concealing layers under folds. You only reveal your sharpest tips, Your strongest wits To protect inside those crumpled paper bits. It’s a little bit disconcerting, I should think, That beautiful’s only whole. But this whole time you’ve spent alive seems much entwined in building paper holds. And that, I… Continue reading Origami
And I sigh to sing again, between the long drawn breaths and sharp intakes of salty cascades when they Crash and when they linger … leaving watermarks on sandy parchment like coffee stains, only sadder.
I look at the pattern on my pants and I'm reminded of the permanence of complexity. And furthermore how useless my vision is that it cannot turn paisley into pinstripe no matter how long or hard I stare. It's simply an unfortunate circumstance that they were ever pants at all. Why, then, does it matter… Continue reading The Pattern On My Pants
I didn't mean to forget you. You were simply too hot when I met you Too full of steam You were smoke on water Infusing Confusing Staring into me I wanted to drink you I could have drank you If I didn't mind the burns But I did And it hurt to leave you but… Continue reading Polly
Pen ink fractures page breaking Monday morning in the dawn with little hairline splinters dandruff dusted in false starts and cheap ink streaks and hesitation, … Continue reading Diary