It’s a bottle of wine and a glass of stars— and my heart beat beats like you wouldn’t believe. The wind, she rustles my tresses but solicits no favors; she gathers me up and dip dives down in the valleys of tree tops and tumbled down ran-shacks the very kind I can empathize with.
I rest with the little waves. My feet are sore and feeling heavy a happy heavy, an earned heavy, these waves have traveled a lifetime. We surge together, side by side blood flushes with the swelling tide then down, back down, down for both our sakes’. We ebb and flow and contemplate magnitude, hand in hand, soul in soul with softened gazes a … Read More Magnitude
The forest smells like peppermint and wraps me inside its Christmas hug; are those clouds? or the sea?— Does it matter? The world spins and I spend so much effort dashing the other way. Frantic flailing sort of running the kind that finds me farther back from whence I came.
This is the fire, the fate of the fire: to wax and bulge as I gaze upon it and shrivel and splutter when I turn my cheek— my chagrin is great and displeasure bold, for the night ahead is long. But this is the fate of the fire: to catch a waft a minuscule flick and with just a breath to light a … Read More Fate of the Fire
I have found, when it comes to travel living (i.e. the act of traveling to a place to cultivate a life for a medium-length temporary period of time before moving along to a new destination and repeating the process), I feel almost all emotions in a concentrated dose. To a degree, this happens when I’m just travel-traveling, for a week or so to a … Read More Things Come Together, Things Fall Apart
Before the world was steady and still– soft ankle grass hugging loose. The blades didn’t breathe (me neither) my hair caught the chapstick (staying put) I held the book with one hand— not a page shivered. But the clouds are moving faster, now, breezy currents come. My hair tocks like a windshield wiper the grass rushes (still soft, it tickles) my two fingers … Read More Precipice
It does not appear that this sun shall set nor the melody in my mind to cease; I do not feel I shall ever be hungry nor recollect that feeling of cold. The sky mirrors my mind— empty and warm and without agenda— I find, in having no destination, I have come to where I should be.
I see the sea lap the rocks the streaky current pulsing sinuous but smooth & tall my breath is still & the wind is still— the wind is so still. My cross-legged legs are streaky pulsing currents the spine shaped by carpenters with bendy rulers I count on one hand all the thoughts I think— man that wind is so still. Cloudless skies … Read More Romance