First poem since prague...
I want
slick yellow the
path between doorsteps the
lint in your navel cave
a hand reaching past midnight and
into the fearless, helpless
grasp of tomorrow.
For this to be
the smooth brown
curve of an avocado
heart in the chest
space of my palm.
Thin wires of smoke
wound into
each strand of hair
in a bar full of faces
nameless, first night of the year.
Or the hard ache of January
paving absence into years.
well it isnt good, but i havent written in months, and i think its time to get back into it. We'll see where it leads. or doesnt. who cares? I am finally becoming myself, and its good.
slick yellow the
path between doorsteps the
lint in your navel cave
a hand reaching past midnight and
into the fearless, helpless
grasp of tomorrow.
For this to be
the smooth brown
curve of an avocado
heart in the chest
space of my palm.
Thin wires of smoke
wound into
each strand of hair
in a bar full of faces
nameless, first night of the year.
Or the hard ache of January
paving absence into years.
well it isnt good, but i havent written in months, and i think its time to get back into it. We'll see where it leads. or doesnt. who cares? I am finally becoming myself, and its good.