Writing for my life.
How can I tell youthat what I had is gone?
if all these vowels and consonantsput flesh on the bones of my thought
how do I express lessin the substance of syllables?
Date: 2017–05–31
The Old Town doesn’t look the same.
Walking alone feels lighter, but less radiant, like I need the heat from our friction.
To write is to live. Pushing the creation through thin blue lines, building a sentence for…
There are voices in me that sing the morning
Fissures of me that are racked with pain
Every time I breathe I can feel a different space.
Holding these orbs together I have made a full-time job
Date: 2017–04–16
What can I dream of, safely?Feared not to sleep, mindworking its own way inward,obsessing over stolen phones andnaked men, children with blood nosesbrave the ward and whisper aboutand crying shameand weeping long
Wish me luck, oh stars and angels!for brighter days may rise fromdeep within this blister pack of soporific bullets.
Perhaps I’ll leave aside poor Winston’s dog(take him for his walk some other day)Since each long, elliptic path returns me to the hook where that leash…