3

a dream kept to itself - inaccessible unless
it chooses to remember me


fragments - line segments


thread flow flown through
seemingly seamless heart. i live on its
underside - feel the missed stitch
and knot;
arc verses across illusion's surface.
needle in, needle out like your
skipping stone; its split decision
under the surface, whether to break and rise again,
or not.

---

i didn't burn the bridge;
it was already made of flame.
no warmth from its remaining coals,
my boat and oar below,
both carved from water.
unnoticed by the ocean, i'm safe from
and forever
drowning.


---

sometimes, it is as if i hold hands with
my own heartbeat. traveling easy beside me
in a sphere of movement balanced
between transcience and always. the familiar rhythm of
an intimate friend that keeps me as a secret from myself.

---

language of a line,
flesh against my flesh.
bone fused to wooden handle,
breath's loose grip on
pigments tangled at the end of
a brush - if my life, reduced to bristle tips
could be pronounced - this quiet stutter responds to
fine kinetics so slight i'm unaware they're mine.

- bright lights produce all the more
shadow - mine, falling out
of themselves across my line of vision, holding moment in doubt, exploring
the perhaps, resuming without assumption. i am only
painting a line, trying to keep it straight or settle
for good enough illusion - just don't look too close.

i try with eyes shut tight.

trust is a blind line.


... wading through dragonflies.


---


the smell of coffee spilled just below my collarbone, all
warm morning skin sweet and bitter. thick, this scent, circling
amidst other memories - golden smoke around me with
some rust in there, connected to a million de ja vues.

~ fast forward to
relics scattered up
across the sky's upturned soil
turned under towards the saddest light there is
- the glow of it -
too familiar and at odds with lost-after-midnight-hours
- can't find them on the clock
anywhere.

gone silent, except

the sound of a truck in reverse 3 miles away.

nothing between me and the driver. closer to him than anyone else on the planet
right now.

i'd like to sit beside him,
as i imagine him,
not of gender but spirit,
roll down the passenger window
unshielded from lights, celestial
and human - all burning up the sky.

both of us - it doesn't matter who we are,
just,
we are.
painfully alive.

a flame in every cell burning
so brightly it hurts. all soul's, like mine, with
mine, flung over god's shoulder looking back
- rest my hand over his while it shifts neutral towards
reverse - tracks left in the dust,
he wants them straight, feels the blind spot
brailling his movement
crossing the earth.