Optica Archiva

anger as a tearing apart 

trauma poem for therapy (one)

who am i to think the geranium plain

through blue light on my ceiling

walking down a path two robins run in opposing directions in sync on either side of me opening a gate

i can’t be the only one who thinks of bodies floating to the surface when it thaws

Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception 

ever ever 

it’s moments like this that aren’t translatable to anyone else. my run to grab coffee and take a quick walk across campus to break up the day falls away. the familiar campus scenery becomes another. one that feels like it constitutes my dna. my neck is bare exposed to cold wind and the skin feels like rubber that masquerades flesh under my warm pocket fingertips. and i am not touching my neck but the neck of my mother as we dress her body in the living room to be taken from the house. i put on her necklace i bought her and feel skin that isn’t hers. i am told to take the necklace off her because it will just be incinerated with her body. i should keep the necklace. i slip on the necklace that is hers not hers that is mine not mine and feel it against my skin cold from the skin no longer her(s). i am not in my skin now or then. 

[unsolved mysteries]

soundscapes that haunted my childhood dreams

soundscapes that haunted my childhood dreams

soundscapes that haunted my childhood dreams