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Trauma makes abrasions, lines and circles that exquisitely permeate and colour the lens of our eyes; the blood of our mind. Poison’d in entrapment.
I am neither here nor there, my mind, set on tempests. While the heart, plainly beats. flowing words–hold me close; I am sanguine. Brimming with the rich redness of life, repose, and everything in-between. With nothing behind, I cry and cry in sweetness: bound to no thing other than me.
I have the same dream every night: I am on a beach. My eyes are closed and my hands – stretched open. I am bathing in the sunlight and marveling at the easiness of the moment. Then, my eyes open. I see the shore, which looks boundless, and a wild jungle positioned miles behind me. […]
“Spring forward, spring back.” They tell you. They don’t give you an outline: They don’t tell you why. “Spring forward, spring back.” They command you. The nature of it is p e r p l e x i n g; bristling and jostling with kinetic energy. Dark and invigorated. “Spring forward; spring back.” They threaten, without […]
I want to warn him before it happens; I see the melt – the melt he created. What use are words of reapproach? He is falling and falling: All I can do is watch. His body is positioned in curves of terror and instability. He is in complete entropy. I absurdly yearn to ask him, […]
There is something hauntingly beautiful about packing up the remnants of your old life into 18″ by 18″x 16″ boxes.