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56. something about them reminds me of almonds
so much to do, so little time. and yet, there’s always time to feel. there must be, else what do we life for? not this sense of helpless continuity, surely? so i run out of the house to take in the...
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58. siren
our fifth month together and all i’ve given you for our anniversary is a revelation of my secret admirer and some of the passion in me. my english boy. the english boy. have i told you i always...
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67. just alive
how is it that i still haven’t learnt to recieve compliments? years gone by and i’m still the ugly duckling waiting to become the swan. i’m told i’m there, but how can i believe my luck? nobody’s born...
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70. because i’m a dreamer
i’ve realised not long ago how shame has filled the crevices of my life. and yesterday i let it out on you, because in all this time you hadn’t realised. you bought me presents that i liked, you told...
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75. dear world, i’m writing to you tonight
dear world, i’m writing to you tonight. everyone else is either waiting for my call or doesn’t care at all and i’m tired of always turning up on time, of always taking no more than is mine, of feeling...
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this field
you can have the whole of me in this field: i pressed my soul into its loins and beads of sweat still glisten on the body learning to tango in the outpour of rain. i will surrender only here so take...
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86. i think she knew
through my paperround last year i met a wonderful man. he used to walk his dog as i’d deliver papers and we started talking around the time i started writing this blog. i think he’s 82: he must have...
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104. they are the answer
the words stand on the page. they sing, jabber, holler; they are the answer. i’ve often wondered how one finds themselves. last night i promised you that i would look further, deeper; that i would be...
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110. all world needs a muse
i’m more a reader than a writer, a passive comma in the midst of life. born to incite something or other, born to launch without ever going anywhere oneself. but there is time. time changes all, time...
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you are.
you listen to the scribble of my pen on paper: ardent, desperate, hot: bird caged in barbed wire and wool, fed ground coffee and coca leaves. you listen of my other loves: none as big none as...
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