heavy coat of senses deaden
escape from/escape to
neurons are Saturn’s rings or
the 24 hour bus route
airport to the church to
the airport to the
you never had a flight to catch.
waiting disguised as movement,
the sky is
The ground holds you like a mother.
I’ll tell you what this is about. The way my rabbit brain cycles and never lets my thoughts step off the bus. Except last night I felt the spaces in between thoughts (I guess I was trying to meditate or something). Should probably do that regularly, the sky is really nice.
Oh. So they removed the 10 year bar on my fiancé… We (or, he) have the interview on Friday. If this doesn’t go through… eff it I’ll just move to India.
the gravity of you is a relief, step into your orbit
familiar like wax of an almost-dead candle. Wanna
recognize the flame. It’s
so warm here.
Slowdive from comfortable heights, what is fear?
What is your heart?
Better than 20/20 vision. water in a
thousand mile desert.
I know what I want. Unsure of how to get there.
It is very easy to teach the box. Dimensions of the one you’re already in or a new one to step into. Agoraphobia is love of the cage, or rather, fear of the not-cage. Unsure how to turn a wall into a ladder but probably yelling/chucking rocks over the top is unhelpful.
I got instincts like you would not believe, my flight or fight response could burn bridges on the moon-
thick vacuum spacesoup, no match for this fear
nah I’m fucking with you, have a low threshold for trust
I believe in you even if your divinity is serpentine, bed with teeth, caged horizons like you wanna keep me here
don’t do bars though
that song is too difficult to articulate.
racetrack neurons distractions the
cardboard shield against
canvas, the void
peeled back and
sobriety the loudest silence.
no cliff, no sky.
waiting and bright
I would sing you to sleep through
centuries of dusks
easy happy, soft heart of
the infinite now
I see you, I see you, I see you
stages of the moon, familiar
I yanked this poem out by the roots for you
harvested that garden of cranial
spaghetti sauce, crusted
wrenched visibility from mudstains
I stole from the storm to give to the eye,
wanted to paint your chaos unimaginably long-skinned and
the risk is proportionate to the view, always
this altitude a glory and a danger
I should be thanking you for.
Make a new friend. Only friend in my neighborhood, essentially. Now he’s telling me we can’t hang out because he’s in love with me. Ugh. Not even flattering I’m just so so so sad because I thought it was the real thing.
You SHOULD love your friends.
He said he always looks for love in the wrong places. I told him “you weren’t looking for love in the wrong place. Sex isn’t that.”
cavernously lonely, universe upon universe of
empty. How terrifying it must have been when I found you.
Tell me to go away and I will I will I will>> you have my
you have my phone number. I’m a quarter turn of an atom away
close as the breath
on your tongue.
8 years of working in nursing homes.
I know what the human wants. To be
behind the shell of bodies
gardens within gardens
I would walk that maze with
make friends with all your dark
afternoon tea with your demons
I would stare your past right in the face.
I was sitting in the ruins thinking how the fuck could i have let this happen again
But I couldn’t live in that house anymore. The staircases and the food in the fridge, both rotting.
I kept putting it off. Didn’t want to dismantle. Didn’t want a fire. Didn’t want to clean out the basement or walk in the attic.
But. All that rotting wood. The core was bad the foundation built out of inferior materials.
I still tried to live there. Decorated the walls all nice and ignored the flaws (that BASEMENT I swur.)
Rotting wood does catch fire. Despite everything. I want to get to the point where I’m not ashamed of that, but grateful.