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j.y
j.y

j.y

notes to self

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j.y
j.y
Mar 22, 2017 · 1 min read

she sits in the empty row, alone

the ikaki bag woman has short obedient hair, a fixed gaze

firm

and behind the all black polyester shoes,

her inward looking knees, i know

she’s still a girl.

j.y
j.y
Jul 2, 2016 · 1 min read

at an arabic funeral

in place of tears,

the dry wind and desert sky.

green the insciptions on a slab,

the dirt was, like the Americans’ uniforms, colour of a sparse beach.

j.y
j.y
Jun 30, 2016 · 1 min read

it’s my words choked at my gullet, i can’t swallow

and the wisps from my lanyx that you

make for my words.

i’m suffocating, dear

it’s the high wails from my horse throat that i gallop with my hoofs

j.y
j.y
Apr 25, 2016 · 1 min read

2023, nocturnal hours/ the room is dark, less the light on these emotionless faces — I imagine how i must seem. The room mates are on beds adjacent to mine: I wonder if they see the light that i see; their faces. We lay docile on our beds: still, dying. Words come out unrelative, merely customary. Our phones on night desks, fixed to their umbilical…

j.y
j.y
Mar 28, 2016 · 1 min read

On the fifteenth time I painted red it was dull blue, it was deep magneta. The bonsai trees had its roots like new legs — now standing on its own. Yet the sky made it look so distant and the ocean in its own calmness; as if it had been there for a long time. I remember now that dog who’ve found its feet again and for the first time, found no joy in…