Old Animals

All of the bones in my immediate view are friendly ones, nothing like mean bones. Nothing like closet bones covered with other beautiful baggage. These bones have stories, and I found them out when I found them in the ground. Found out we were all the same because these bones are also incomplete, and even if I piece them together the edges will never meet. As we sit pasted to the walls of the canyon across the room in admiration, greens and light in between, shadows in the stark white.

Travellers Notes

I’ve been having dreams that don’t feel like dreams. I’m waking up, I’m walking out of space into memories I no longer remember, wandering into something I didn’t want to. But it’s not the scenes, strange as the leaves telling fortunes in the bottom of your tea. It’s the dread trap crisis coming from the bottom of my half sleep heart. These dreams of isolation, dreams of going back. These dreams of fucking up, dreams of living in restraint and everything I lack. Dreams of walls so tall that time can’t even crack. And I wake up scared each time from travelling despite my senses fade from black. Out of breath on the bedside, out of time, left to sync. Present to the light thrown from the top of the curtains to the seven circles on the wall, and the way the mirrors reflect them back and forth in three realities.

Alt Cinema 5

It was all grey and grain against the sky. light purple eerie, sneaking with smoke ghosts. I was out from the elevator in a direction more feeling than navigation along the bones of the building. Open doors behind me, slow and steady, to the skull on the floor. I’m chased, I’m trapped, I’m awake. 60 years left to 60 years more.

Mute Morning

The air is still and sticky, and the birds outside my window don’t seem to realize that the sun has barely risen three hours after it promised. A mute morning. Lying in bed considering every praying mantis I’ve ever met, and if the ringing in my ears is a signal from the universe that I choose to ignore. It’s loud but I can drown it out. Maybe I was a flightless bird in a past life.

Alt Cinema 4

I was in a house on the water. Not by the water, on the water, and out the window all the whales were close enough to high-five. Airborne split seconds at a time, now the house comes down, now sprint away outside. There’s a whole neighborhood floating, but we all just stand and talk about it, suspended so in a way we were all floating too. A whale also died but I lost my thought about it.

As A Suitcase

I didn’t become this sentimental
I was this sentimental
as a suitcase hauled along
I’m watching the old shows from the balcony
I’m hoping the home teams win
I’m ripping with all my anthems
and I’m screaming out loud
I’m crying the tears
of adverse weather
Over open seas at whim
Bright eyes hold close calamity
and the old songs
hanging in the air


Strange Space

I’ve created a strange space. or maybe I’ve collected it. or collected myself into it. it’s made of inside things that I think I’d like to put outside for inheritance. I don’t know what it means, or how to get here, so I don’t know how to get out. it’s a labyrinth of memories I collected and stories I’ve been told about myself. how can I remember something before I knew how to remember anything? my story started changing and I’ve been stuck on certain parts that made me sad and now I’m sad because I talk about being sad too much, and I kept looking into the hole as I was digging 100 feet into the earth and eating the dirt to keep my mouth moving. I’m softer now on the edges and everything gets in so I can feel it for a few seconds or two years.

A Word

I want to invent a word to describe the feeling of wanting to go home but nowhere feels like home anymore. Not even driving down the street to pass the house I grew up in. I want to feel it in the way that I mean it, in the way that I fit into a place between my bones and the front door. Between the memories I saved and the ones I haven’t made yet.

Something Funny

A lot of things are funny. Funny in the way that they look. Different. But just enough that you still know what they are and you have to break your neck checking backwards to make sure
the simulation didn’t glitch.
A lot of things are funny. Funny in the way they feel but you can’t tell if you remember the way they used to feel or the way you want them to but they’re both the same anyway.
A lot of things are funny. Funny in the way I feel. I feel everything. I used to feel some things, but something found me and showed me everything else.

Flurry

*buzzBUZZ, bouncing around the interior of my mid-morning brain in a carbonated fit. Thoughts of material acquisition, extra shit. Chill in the air, empty space in the house. I occupy a window like a museum exhibit for drive-by visits. *restless tooth chatter. Scanning the room back and forth waiting for an agenda to manifest. There’s always the coffee shop. Or the gym. There’s always the snow and I could sit by the fire watching it melt on impact on every surface too warm to support the mini-tundra or I can get in the car and circle the block staring into the storm of flakes on a crash course with the windshield or I can stand in the middle of the yard looking up lost in the stellar white spin, endless. Each meets the same end anyway. **big breath. Somehow I’ve just done all three and now I’m dripping with universes pooled on the skin of my face, soaking it in. all this exploration makes my stomach growl but I’m stuck in the space between 17 thoughts holding out for gentle punctuation. Little islands I just can’t seem to shore, a siren song would close this loop. It’s too gray out there to be a day. *bummer.