the stunning perfection of the refridgerator hum

and finally. Enough silence to hear myself say home. My skin settles into well worn places. Curved and soft and warm. My jaw relaxes into comfortable words. My hands refill teapots, endlessly. Enveloped in hope. I am home.

absorbtion method

between forefinger and thumb there is a small space of possibility. held up to the light it reveals the infinite more clearly than the oceans or stars.

the origami of fate is unfathomable. lines folding into eachother like ancient lovers; an intimate familiarty born of paitence and compassion. i can't articulate what is at the point where skin ends and dreaming begins.

i awake and find a small vessel at the nape of my neck. something to sip from and voyage upon. we are led in directions that lack familiar sights but somehow smell like home.

confined to osmosis
we are able to become
everything

absentia

and the city is big and bright and bustling and hungry and dirty and poor. i switch masks every minute. fold small stories into lattes and store morsels of wisdom for quiet moments of reflective retreat.

and the cafes they sparkle and the strangers are captivating and i wonder if i've been absent too long. that dank windy city is on everyones lips like a slut at a key swapping party.

there is something of me in all of these things. i wonder at what i've become. when the penny drops it is neither heads nor tails. i pirouette with it, circling myself until my outline grows blurred and i merge with my past and my future.

departures and arrivals

wandering through no mans land. Ambushed by fluroscent lights and memories of other lives. In these transient places i am every version of myself that has passed through these gates. The sentimentality leeches through the sterility.....and for a moment i miss those other lives. Faces scrubbed fresh with ambition. Matches lit to burn fast and bright. In cold beer gardens we remind ourselves with maps masked as recollections. And suddenly i remember where i have always been.

shot

I spin up into the grey scale horizons. Lurch from coffee shot to coffee shot. Hold on till the world stops turning so fast. Until it slows to the pace of my heart.

I am learning the names of the thousand wishes I carry in a small wooden box. Carved into concrete.Like long lost love affairs. Remembered only when passed.

Fine filaments of dreaming flicker off my clothes. Flecks of possibility float with dust and old skin. Microscopic chandeliers of those parts we no longer need light up in the last rays of the day.

I am mouthing something poignant and unmistakable but even I can't hear what it is.

in preperation

flights of fancy taxi down runways. Turbulance on take off and landings. Rattled like childs play; infantile toys. I regress to thumb sucking and spit bubbles. I get dizzy around calenders. So many days circled. I dream of distant friends and learning to drive. Retracing old ground; resurrecting apparitions. Less recycled, more refined.

stop and....

i remembered everything i needed to have a happy childhood. Part esoteric, part mundane. These small morsels of honesty that carry me from page to page. So much has been about redemption; the moon shaking the earth. All these whimsical confessions, i wonder at what they mean.