donedonedonedonedone.overoveroverover.donedonedone.

I dreamt we slept in a moss in Donegal
On turf banks under blankets, with our faces
Exposed all night in a wetting drizzle,
Pallid as the dripping sapling birches.
Lorenzo and Jessica in a cold climate.
Diarmuid and Grainne waiting to be found.
Darkly asperged and censed, we were laid out
Like breathing effigies on a raised ground.
And in that ( Read more... )

     Everything is in a constant state of motion except for my fingers. My mind keeps chugging, my feet continue to trip, my arms sway and sway, but my fingers just can’t seem to get a grip on anything. My hair color changes from dark brown to highlighted red from winter to summer and my legs gain and lose muscle and my nails grow and are bitten ( Read more... )