Tag: melancholia

  • slumberinthat

    chilldaycrawl
    intobedcavegrey
    turnofftheworld
    sleepysadweary
    slumberinthatplace
    wherethereis
    notevenme

  • before the jading

    a close up shot of jade rings
    Photo by Nam Lê on Pexels.com
    back before the jading
    i wore trust on my sleeve
    heart portable,
    to give away free
    but that was
    back before the jading

    might i carve to whale
    with the piling up
    of so much green
    had i the skill,
    i might carve to whale

    but time has drifted
    and i, a drifter from dream
    suspicious of dealers in jade
    unlike those days
    without whales
    back before the jading

  • slumber

    chill breeze flowing
    through open windows
    and everyone sleeping
    in this sleeping house

    my own mind slumbers
    too
    and i wonder if it
    will ever wake

    There are more times of late when I feel more simulacrum than person. This is one of those times, where I am quite content in not moving forward if only this moment could linger. Stop the simulation, let me sleepy-slumber with late summer (or early autumn, I suppose) on the morn, windows open, bare legs cold, the faint bird chirps without rhythm or meaning, the highway drone from a few miles away. Coffee mug in hand, ignoring the turmoil in the news. Watching cats watch whatever and not feeling too much pain in the joints until I move.

    I could be that simulacrum, my brain says — for a while longer. Record and set to repeat. I’m tired of most everything else. Add a section when I lay atop my bedding and sleepwalk in half-remembered dreams, maybe program a section where I catch chill and nest underneath too. What about a companion? While a nice thought, I’m not sure such scenes allow for companionship. The slumbering simulacrum seems a solitary affair, doesn’t it? Or maybe… but no. We’ll leave that for the dreaming this simulacrum might have.

    If it were possible to have this half-dream state of existing, I might even stop writing. It would be my gift to the world.

    Hush now. I feel another dream.

  • Wot up?

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash

    I’m going to be posting less often over the summer. I think so, anyway.

    Why?

    I have a couple of irons in the fire, among other reasons:

    (more…)

  • underneath

    Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash
    the peopling ages raw
    meat hook hanging
    — don't pretend to kiss me,
    this savage morning hurts

    let me dance the razor's edge
    the deaf talk my broken digits
    the blind point my way home

    underneath, i weary stone