Thursday, February 17, 2022
Who says awake before awake, sinks into the small pit behind the stomach, oh, familiar sadness of what’s left behind, of not reaching out, speaking but not being spoken to. The sun made possibility for a moment and for a moment I thought about following it. Today, I slipped again. My song repeated its strings of silence and the space between your leg and mine turned over. I miss closeness and go down all the passages. you / you / you. Writing is holding what can’t be dropped, some edge or dark room I can’t help but return to. A house full of polar bears.
It was a wave all along. It was a wave all along. It was repeated, your breaking, the you in the otherwise of the morning in the thick of th...