Sometimes
the words
all lined up together in that way
nudge and nudge me out of comfort
they make me restless
make me sleepy to read
they clang together like symbols
unpleasant in that way that they are 'not quite' painful
I feel them in my hairs
I sense them into vision
Black & White film shot at night
waves crashing up against black rocks
in a movie with no sound
just inky mess
swirling in silence
ugly and incomplete
The blood is in the water. But the water is warm and the blood is my own and when you bleed out slowly the feeling is earnest and soothing. They say sharks can smell the sweetness of injury from miles out to sea. I can’t envision them motioning a snout to the currents, sniffing like caricatures but I can see their shadows from above, casting sleek shapes along the imaginary seafloor. I sense them circling. Like ghosts. Like memories. Silent as knife blades.
I used to think I could only write when I was depressed.
Now I know it’s just that I can only write well when I’m depressed.
Goldilocks was a thief, a snoop and a vandal yet her only reputation was for her hair.
Another thought about sleep.
Fish.
Fish sleep.
Only half a brain at a time they say.
But humans know FA about animals.
paper bag stained with borsch
a greasy- bloody drip just slightly too pink
the old man left his dinner on the table
drove the wrong way up an offramp
and killed himself and a stranger in an oncoming car
A punctuation.
A punctuating sound.
A punch.
There’s a bee in my head.
I can only speculate as to how he found his way in.
I feel his little footless appendages.
Rummaging around.
Reading vibrations to see deep into the grey custard suspending my thoughts.
I imagine his expressionless face.
A helmet made of eyes.
Anticipatory.
Hunting, restless. Agitated. Searching.
Moving so jaggedly, so constantly, his body hums a note.
The sound of desperation.
Flowers developed overtime into blooms to drive him wild.
Luscious, vibrant, pungent, velvety specters.
Is it painful, like hunger?
Is it intoxicating like lust?
I pity him.
Constantly occupied. Never satisfied.
His existence is a curse.
lessons learned in learning lessons lessens the learnings we have learned
I need to experience the universe again.
I’m not sure if I feel anything.
I panic at the point of it all.
The certainty of death.
I ponder the meaning and meaninglessness of each day.
My head is filled with black coffee.
I want to add that splash of cream.
A moment of richness.
I can see it.
Ribbons of white, rolling satin which appear to move in slow motion through the darkness.
I little thing that cannot be undone.
A drug experience.
A horror.
I want to be left feeling different.
Looking different.
Being different.