At night; your men are armed to teeth/ the timbre of their boots outside my gates/ a proposal past. A river; the rock split into blood and /thorns seducing their way out /miserable gaps of solitude. The dogs; rising to the occasion/ pouring their vile hatred of you/ signalling your imminent arrival. The house; your …
Tag Archives: Grief
June 21: A Log
It’s a warm summer evening lightly accompanied by a fading rain; I rather like the sound of rain tapping the tin roofs of our home and the dim light in my room. I have turned on my personal computer, it’s been a while since I used it and its gathered pile of dust is relatively …
Grief as a Constant
Grief is potential, it is a light headedness in your feet. Ergo, it’s spoiler. It’s a splinter in your finger: it is a craft to have: you should go ahead and sleep in a quiet grave. It’s a constant sorrow that’ll be your alter-ego for the life to come. It does not leave. It just …
12/03/2018: A Log
It is supposedly a college day; however I find myself tucked away from sunlight, probably because the sun, while benign, feels deceptive and false here; while as the spring is approaching on its hooves rather soon. I’m home and I’m looking at the world through a wooden frame: a window and a room full of …