Tag Archives: writing
i was reflecting last night; i mean i was being reflected upon my bedroom window looking out on the white silence while sipping on warmed-up milk funny how i’d rarely colour sounds unless i am feeling corrupt or sexy then it occurred to me how difficult it is to hide from you not that i […]
I do not rest dear one I steep stillness in noise dear one I am running dear one I dart like a doe with my fears dear one There is an absence of day and night dear one I am in a kind of everlasting jetlag dear one The sky is less funny these days […]
the present never becomes the future and the future is endlessly like the past nothing has changed in us and we are not as we were when we live our lives it is only to live it unlived dusk is the sun still unrisen in the gloomy east barks of voiceless dogs in the local […]
Coloured till black: the bleak soul and averted eyes of our solemn night I know, listless one, mine too was born in the frolicking dawn
A familiar name. And in the busy field of words a memory steps with your image beyond the page. To the end of the book I would have walked with you.
I sometimes think: it’s just that We always forget we can never really Understand anybody When your wife becomes upset you want to take her to dinner When your father is disappointed you have done good And gone bourgeois, it is so confusing Now just like that is this idea: That we will forever be […]
A pot of basil on the window-sill A lamp-post bending over a street, not lighting just looking A man blowing cigarette-smoke, eyes narrowing A hand on an ignition-switch A cat playing in sawdust A girl studying her profile on a hand-glass An arm lolling beyond the bed A skirt flipping about the ankle over a […]