rapidograph

how slowly we remember how quickly we forget, I’ve lost track of time and the buckling waves smash the beach as before, over and over speaking a foreign language, but I still look and listen waiting for my selkie to return. So these hands, these painful hands which I only claimed yesterday, sipping glass upon glass of icewater, earl grey on an iceberg they remind me I am mortal as I clench them in a cold surprise. I’ve finally found the inner gypsy in me searching for change as before, over and over speaking a foreign language, but I must go and celebrate looking for angels in the strangest places. I’ve finally found thr

Listing to port, there is dread in uncertainty, A lifetime of choices that will never be found, A spear in the side of some ill-gotten gains, I watch as they drop to the ground Like dry dusky leaves in a handpainted pasture Where even the ponies look frozen, I push back the gate and exhale a cold whistle From my mouth comes a tune never chosen… Autumn is a season of hollow discontent And my horizon is filling with snow, I waste my hours with fears deconstructed Because I know of no place I can go Where love dangles free like a careless jewel Awaiting my touch dare I think Yet I’m listing to port, my bones have discover