listening to the dreaming

You leaned in close as if you were trying to hear the song I told you I couldn't get out of my head. But suddenly all I could hear is your silence, and it is so deep and so sweet and so clear, I can still hear it now if I listen.

Hold on

I've got nothing but miracles up my sleeves baby, 

never forget the power of living flesh, a moments breath.

Never forget these arms connect straight in to my heart. 

mothing natters

I have to let myself go
over and beyond the call
of time tickling my outsides
laughing so hard, at how soft real life is.

however It is with not without sadness,
that I look out from this shell
Upon this beautiful mess of my soul
leaked across every fathom of space,
that I come to the conclusion
I probably never existed in the first place.

And yet even this sweet sorrow
for this small (no)thing I called myself
can console me
Personally and or transcendently
because really,
 Nothing matters
maybe it's the only thing that does.

all the things I must forget

I remember nothing,
The warp and the weave of it, the feel of it underneath my fingers.
I remember it exactly how I wanted it;
and how exactly it is.

Now when I try to find where I put down my keys,
my phone,
my life,
nothing consumes me.

And when you ask me how I am
I have nothing much to say.

xo

writing about

to say, more & less
inconcisely
without constant censure
to write right about
hungry words
 ( easily distracted)
tired of the deep
where everything is unevenly weighted against
this speech
which Could never be free
costing at least the air that I breath
not to mention the mess inside my head
tying strings around two moons
moving in different orbits
ruining everything together
misspelled, bad magic
dreaming I'm asleep
always deeper
staring stirring me up
mastering my personal misunderstandings with gravity
falling upwards
into endless blinding light.

time folds, crinkles, crumples and falls around my ankles
Seducing me with the poetry of this uneven and unfair breath.

Impossible even, oddly ruthless, yet worth more always more.

The juxtaposition of coming and going
Painfully, hopelessly, a special kind of aching
sweet soft tissues, hardly holding me in
to have no Idea, especially not this one.

intimately, anatomically, inane
insane & excited

Because everything means everything
every god damn blessed bit.

Make me

Dreaming playing paying sprouting
words on walls and pavements
dead unsaid unmeaning
the darkness sprawled scrawled
in the middle of the night
Just saying, you don't know
just how fucking happy
I could feel if I wanted to.