and this routine has become tired,
an exhaustion with no end,
night after night;
only to reach a point of desperation,
where everything in comparison appears golden.
an empty well welcome to an ounce of oil,
a pint of seed,
anything to give weight,
to feel the pressure of the earth reminding you of your existence.
fear & doubt & sorrow bearing down on your elbows
and every breath becoming a promise to stay alive.
these days i find myself settled into the middle of my bed
a slow album playing steady, notes creeping sleepily, strung from wall to wall
like twinkling lights, warming my body in a...