#february2024

Sourced at: https://www.instagram.com/p/C3X0a-qo5FB/

I find no memory in the familiar, sacred thing-- sweet teapot laid out, dubious china flowered-spout I find the familiar, foundling baby of your beauty in the escape-- in the striving to drink out of crumbling paper cups, to ogle wedding rings that aren't mine to have a mystery worth knowing I want to lie-still in the family crypt, not wriggle over marble to gawk at the ships, to know you by giving up everything I'm made from a mummer's slip.

and in the spill of hair, smoothed economic, static with Pantene, I can see the flowered, berried shawl she wrapped 'round me, and the market she passed by (clean) (shiny) (lost thing) (i loved) (i still look out for her)

sensibly? how does one write legibly, if one is expected to take a sense of the day as it breaches, beyond all form the surety of starred, cold air through an open window thrown around shoulders of a million images slipped, shed, bared and shouldered in their mooring?

the glow of the station was backlit, chiclets facing the cavern of an empty mouth, faces white and brightened out to last the journey- we boarded, with no promise of getting even, off the first car I left, there was only the pull of a streetlight blown out, herald of a dark we would both flatten into use, the sky isn't so lonely, when it's fit around window-frames, when you're watching it pass for the sake of it, the glow of the station, to me was too dim to recognize you in passing.

and cut myself new seams.