threadbare/strung out/stringing along/patched/stitched/woven
i think ive been reading too many ali smith novels lately
my head spins and the ground shrinks and twirls
fog rises from indiana cornfields, from ponds, from my gaping mouth
look down, where are your feet, they’re so far away, down next to the ground like that
i think i have existed outside of time lately, eyes stretching forward, gaze straining to physically pull myself to the next thing, the next thing years and miles from here
so where are you
apple pie, chicago trains, meals alone, art studios
inhabit
inhabit
indwell
maybe i’ve been stuck behind me too. god i miss last year.
the stars, the trees, the lake and loons
and friends
and home
in myself, the quiet, the walks
it was so slow and good, now everything is fast is flicking by like scenes from a train window like scenes from a view finder, fast fast faster september tripped into october gone in two seconds trees burned and fell its all getting a little blurry
i miss my brother, my best friends
the fun and laughing and familiarity and tears and grief
who do you want to be, what do you love, what do you want to do, who do you want to be with. nothing ever satisfies. i wait for things and they happen and nothing changes. but oh change is beautiful. change is constant it is within everything.
what will happen to my body when i die. when i rot.
there was a dead fox on the side of the road with flies on its open eyes and it made me think of someone i don’t want to go on walks with anymore.
my favorite coffeeshop closed, life continues to happen simultaneously in every place ive existed and every place i havent. existence is not governed by my presence. i will die and the world will live on. isnt that beautiful. isnt it freeing. i am small and life continues.
all is well and all is well and all manner of things shall be well.
sacred presence, the holy weight of your glory, within the people of concrete; the train horn; the suburban buzz; the bloodied squirrel; the places of study; the woman swiping swooping sweeping me into the cafeteria; the couch in my friends dorm that is secretly a magic greenhouse; the steady presence of friends always holding coffee.
you are here in this place and it is marvelously beautiful and simultaneously so hard to see.
spit! make mud! rub it on my eyes and let me see the tree people, the colors, the sound.
have i always been blind- give me sight
