22 December 2018
I imagined my mind knowing better felt
my viscera quiver. the birds get startled
into flight though always round-trip.
it’s good to be home alone not that you would
if I had anything to do about it but
we make do. life sucks
its thumb. you’re right where
you’re meant to be. who’s to say blankets
aren’t party dresses or that eyes
can only wet in one way.
gloveless in this eventide chill.
luckily we aren’t parting thickets
for interstices for clarity.
I empathise with the trees that bend
out of light’s way at least till rough
limbs creep up gently
against glass they refuse to crack.
dirty bedroom window remains so. it treasures
the head that rested on it oil and all pondering
the ease with which we dance around naked intention.
show me it’s possible to live and for quite a while
without flowering a new wound.
how lovely we are in our natural state.
taste of raw tongue on my tongue waves
fragile at our feet. we stay dipped long enough for
our digits to grow old shrivel without
fear. something once felt too cruel to endure.
I would not have chosen to float
if given the option. but now i’ll swim.
Cuppy
wearestarstuff