Lonesome Dove

what it doesn't fill it buries

sidewinding shadows of shock

to hold hands with the passed

drowning in my own fragments

my bones hold history

whispers in sleep

did we wink and hung the last time?

the music was too loud to be certain.

I miss someone i haven't met yet

mourning my whole life for now

memories exist before they happen

in the blood, in the skin

the birds buzz

the bees hum

and the straight line

will always be both full and flat

the living go on living

the dead return elsewhere

and the rest of us drift

to shore 

Straight Lines And Wheels

Oh, God, make small

The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,

That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.

-T. E. Hulme

 of too much was our talk, of
too little. Of the You
and You-Again, of
how how clarity troubles...
-Julia Kristeva

 

its hopeless sometimes

and others its a ball

its a wheel and a line

and anything else

that can be seen 

as endless and steady