Category Archives: journaling

Always the same

Winter brings the white sky and the silver slip of the moon. She drops it from her waist like a silk hoop… The sky is black and the stars are holes like an upturned colander. My head seems to lurk

Always the same

Winter brings the white sky and the silver slip of the moon. She drops it from her waist like a silk hoop… The sky is black and the stars are holes like an upturned colander. My head seems to lurk

in the kitchen

He stands against the counter in my kitchen His hair is long and tosseled and his face is a mystery I am barefoot and dancing as the sun sets to amber outside of the window panes It is late summer

in the kitchen

He stands against the counter in my kitchen His hair is long and tosseled and his face is a mystery I am barefoot and dancing as the sun sets to amber outside of the window panes It is late summer

indignant

Sparrow on my chest sing in the morning of this grace which I possess reminding me not to let it slip past my thoughts And so I hold tight to a dream that guides me and flies me above cityscapes

indignant

Sparrow on my chest sing in the morning of this grace which I possess reminding me not to let it slip past my thoughts And so I hold tight to a dream that guides me and flies me above cityscapes

the reflection is daunting on days like this when the white air pricks my skin and the gray of the street seems impossible to exist so colorless my body desires to float into the space between your arms the closed

the reflection is daunting on days like this when the white air pricks my skin and the gray of the street seems impossible to exist so colorless my body desires to float into the space between your arms the closed

False Comfort

These streets once had a name and a thousand words to say voids make placeholders of the empty shells whose memories were laid waste and these vague tombstones mark the graves of the forgotten remains while the man with the

False Comfort

These streets once had a name and a thousand words to say voids make placeholders of the empty shells whose memories were laid waste and these vague tombstones mark the graves of the forgotten remains while the man with the

foreign sheets

The woman inside shroud in which you hide what is your hair like under there the dark robe conceals mysterious eyes and a hidden smile or perhaps a dark sadness that lingers for years and years across the silk and

foreign sheets

The woman inside shroud in which you hide what is your hair like under there the dark robe conceals mysterious eyes and a hidden smile or perhaps a dark sadness that lingers for years and years across the silk and

Cast

night elusive slips from within my palm like cool dark water into the pool of sleep you bare and in discordia the rhythm speaks and I wonder if you hear do you feel disquiet in the sanctuary of your soul

Cast

night elusive slips from within my palm like cool dark water into the pool of sleep you bare and in discordia the rhythm speaks and I wonder if you hear do you feel disquiet in the sanctuary of your soul