Bilious We •

 

 

I so often wish I could bring you sensations, moments, bits of the fabric of things. Today, on the edge of the forest, white throated deer ate new leaves off of saplings a few feet away, as I, black clothes stark against the bark, picked sap and brought it to my face. These moments, like the rocks, in some way unmoving, smooth, clever. I wish to bring these to you untarnished by translation, and in the same moment I know it to be impossible. But I know that very soon we will be in the same room – and that that is the closest two humans get to seeing, as one, the quality of light in an afternoon.

As your breath above mine

My mouth tastes like raw egg yolk and the soap I try to wash my hands with has been sitting in its own juices for so long that it comes apart in my hands, oozing. I feel like that soap. So saturated as to have changed my chemical state.

Recipe: 1. Write tangled poetry 2. Watch one David Lynch Movie per day 3. Be patient

we are all in ratios of being and becoming

I tie a thin strip of leather around my wrist. I drive across the country. I say “I love you” and for the first time in a long time the words make it past my lips. I take polaroids of the people I love. I climb walls. I eat sardines out of the back of my car. I listen. Tears of rapturous gratitude overtake me

“Maybe take this as a time to search in some of those dark places you don’t go to everyday”

“It’s good to see shadow – people have to take care of the shadow”