on slow processes

The wind teases out the details, leaves my hair in knots.

Shaken like boughs and blown and blown, until the dust lifts and glides into the sky. i am at the point where the water and land clasp at eachother, I am saline and sand.

They are slow processes, abrasion and exposure.

defense mechanisms

I am already gone.

My things may still be strewn around your room but my heart has absconded. In my pocket there is a roll of tape labeled CAUTION. DO NOT CROSS.

I stitch together everything I have left. I am returning to Earth. Slamming the ground like a meteor, ensuring I leave my mark.

and all else...

between sweat and sex i catch moments of sensibility.

i alternate between realities; that of the body, that of the mind. i am floating in the midlands, commuting between the conceptual and the immediate.

on mascara and stars

my heart dips. slinks back into it's room. closes the door behind it. emerges with streaked mascara and smudged lipstick. pours whiskey after whiskey. no ice.

a star is an elusive thing to chase. it's glistening gives no sense of life. scattered amongst the millions it's hard to pinpoint the imprint of your name.

for an absent lover

I went through my entire back catalouge of dirty clothes to find the ones that still smell like you. Mixed them with moonlight and the last drops of saltwater until I could imagine the imprint of your body next to mine.

My sweat is as light as the dawn. As light as my declarations and my fears. I avoid sudden movements. I am as the breeze that stalks the leaves. I am holding my breath. I am holding. I am holding everything.

Back into the laundry. I am scrubbing until these thoughts run clean. Until my sleep is settled like sheep that have no need for counting. Until my heart is not doing arthimetic.

Until it is silent as the leaves that stalk the breeze. As silent as moonlight passing through saltwater. As silent as the imprint of yr body next to mine.

brain fucked

my eyes roll forward. my brain swarms in the late afternoon.
the last drops of the day fall onto my skin. i am hobbling through the edges of the light.

wrap me up in domesticity. let me linger a little longer in bed. let me feast on the carpet and the kitchen. let the dishes serenade me to sleep.

my ideas gallop through hallways. i am mustering them into rooms. i am seperating the lambs from the slaughter.

in the background my heart laughs long and low.

the splash

I found myself somewhere between god and a filing cabinet. There were lists that had been cast aside. My pen dissected the fat from the flesh. Carved small peices where large chunks had congealed.

My feathers were hungry, they feasted on air. The mountain emerged from fog so I could take in the view.

Every swan dive requires perfect precision. I am learning to seperate impact from splash.