I came round today, but when I reached your door I balked... went and sat where we’d drunk down the block, and I thought, I hadn’t come to see you, but to return to a place we were at when my ears were still smooth, and the hairs on yours were still black. A place… Continue reading Your door
The moon does not cast our shadows into the water. The pebbles do not watch our shadows drift over as we leave them. That river has been dry for years.
Books scattered by the bed: novels, guides, comics (not all read (many)); a dusty, four-stringed guitar; old boxes that housed electronics that no longer function (one has a warranty in, I'm sure). All signs of me: pointers to moments lived; old habits that refused to die; things that must have happened: little certainties. A concrete… Continue reading But maybe I’m just lazy