paper

20.08.2017

these grey walls
are ashen prison blocks
but the windows are open,
and it feels bearable.
simple, to let go
and not be conscious
ignoring the gnawing gut,
the empty voices, the
goodbye words.

it is easy to be
alone when you turn
the brain off,
don’t feel the cold
anymore, it’s just
another piece of
the nothing-void.
shuffles pass by
the bedroom door
there is -no entry-
why would there be?
no one is here.
sleep time comes
and it goes, like a
wave crushing down
the sand pebbles.
stronger just because.
the moon comes up
the sun goes down
the stars are bats
flying picking
bugs from the air.
music used to matter
in this space
and so did books
and projects
and smiles that split
lips. now there are
only tiny bones
on the bed, small
bruises and headaches.
skin a see-through blouse.

paper little girl
cutting up other
little paper things
and wishing them
into real life.
this isn’t playtime
and you will have
nothing at the end –
money holds no weight
in a wallet that
doesn’t exist.
i’m sorry –
it all sounded good
written down.

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reel it in

18.08.2017

haiku sets, tiny
fissures in a jaded heart –
but it wasn’t me.

i wear socks to bed
now – i picked it up from you,
a wayward habit.

can i ask what you
took from me? my legs, my lungs?
brain function in prose?

i am on this page,
and as the wind blows i see
you are not with me.

do not be afraid
of the words. do not worry
about my mistakes.

you will be just fine.
i am learning quite fast now
how to reel it in.

heartbeats

13.08.2017

i see the power lines, red
light district lights blinking,
the turrets of wind farms
spiraling endless and how
the fuck am i supposed
to reach out and touch this,
this happiness, and know that
it is something i cannot keep?

here there is americana
upswept in dust, hot days
with nightshade and fire pits.
i will my camera to appear,
to take my mind’s eye photos
of railroad tracks and dirty boots
and the stillness of your face
when you fall asleep.

i want to remain in the space
where i hear your heart beat.

may i capture it in format?
can i paint it in straight lines?
i will sculpt a door in which
i may traverse to sometime
that this would be different
and i would be better. i would be
lots of things, anything;
instead this repeats.

i can loop too.
just not like you, not in
the magic way that i don’t really
understand, just like so much
about you, but i want it and
the echoes, the ghost doesn’t,
+++++ it doesn’t
it doesn’t matter to me.

blue

8.08.2017

blue sky today –
looks washed clean, new
paint applied, no cracks
along the sideboards.

i light candles
that burn down to nothing,
for in this space
it is always dark.

text messages
are uncertain things;
notification alerts
like mini-panic attacks.

i make lists
to fill trash liners,
and whisper your
name on southern winds.

tiny pinpricks
through facade
made light shafts
on this shallow grave.

and suddenly i can see
all along what was wrong
was me, and my bothers
will never bother you.
here i am alone in blue.