Soft ideas left hanging on the air.
no longer inspired by,
no longer remembered.
The walls of my skull painted,
with soft ideas and stains
burnt in like cigarettes.
Small holes, terrible edges.
Soft ideas abandoned
formless on my breath.
No longer inspired by.
only ever lived in retrospect. only ever gave a little. only ever loved in waves, and washed ashore too soon. only lived a couple lives only learned from what I've lost all along, I've only lost the things that I've let out
If we could talk forever I would sit in silence hanging on the line.
Every word all yours. I'm stuck again barely breathing, fault internalized.
Sit with me where the sky and the streetlights meet. Two lines intersect in the moment our stories speak. Tangled fingers in our tangled space, hanging, freely in all the times we'd wait.
no matter how many times you tell yourself "everything is ok" the unsettling edges of overthinking parade and with every worst-case scenario, your breath has run away
Running from parts of myself that were easy alone. But baby whats left? And how much have you known? I can't get very far, very fast from the place, but I opened a door, straight into you. And the pulling parts, the ghosts before, keep pulling back from running more. The parts of me I've longed to leave keep coming back in fear of the left behind. My life is always leaving, staying sounds sublime.
it’s a life less frightening from the back of the room. foot on a wall. foot on the cool.
you exist in the low light in dreams i sometimes dream, and wake up wild wondering...the sun rode out our make-believe
I reside with a vast collection of inconsistencies. A sea of distraction that's dust collected me; still I come back to a path where no X's sleep, and all question marks proceed. The same old ride-by-luck, drawn on hope and infinities. My coming back, my toxic trials, my heart resides in all these miles; my face-to-face finds peace in all the midnight tides. I come again, and leave again, and back and forth by right. On letting go, and consequence, and continental quills. Stuck to me, stuck on us in black and white beguile. Drawn inside and disappeared and "Hey, come back in time". On letting go, and letting go of mine.
You simply turn a page, subtle, unassuming. Suddenly you’re staring back and shattered glass, there you are in the middle where someone else has said, and you have been there too, and all that page is you. Live there. As long as life. Soon it passes, in “Faithful and Virtuous Night”, I have been her too.
** I have been reading Faithful and Virtuous Night by Louise Gluck recently, the title piece drew this from me. Sometimes you turn a page and never know what is going to come out of those words, hers have struck, unexpected, and welcome.
The things I have seen in the corners of my eyes. the peripheral pastor, the passing of minds…A slip, a fall, a twist of time. I saw some present or some future awe, side by side, or was it at all…Quickly glimpsed, quickly gone. Clipped and borrowed for a blink. I stop and wonder, and recede into questions, into me, it was not there, or so I think…
a choice, in defeat of all design. always a choice to dance around your fleeing mind. but left to chance, a choice is felt to pass, a crime to wave goodbye.
bulidup to bigger breaths from the edge of every bed. pressure filled from somewhere in some sidestreet soliloquy you once forgot you said; and since forgotten thoughts all haunt your head. the anxious quilt to cover up until you pull a thread. and up and down, and lost the crown, the cool is fucking dead. your chest is full and scared until the air unfurls, then fade to dreams forever before the scheme repeats.
too distracted. always infatuated. everything unknown is all i'll love. everything i've loved is now unknown.