Gutter sleep.

I have so many thoughts that I want to express in my head and I wish to do so poetically but I cannot come up with anything sufficient. It all seems lacking, and I want to be direct and forward but that just seems too… bold.

An ocean wave knocked me underwater

and I thought about the delicate seconds

of silence and serenity and

the type of effortless drowning

that took my strength away

when I saw you struggling 

to find me.

I’ve been dying to reach you but my extension cord wouldn’t reach that far.

I Drew a Storm

sleep-sweet:

I drew a storm in ink
underwater,

I traced the outline
of a cloud,

but the ink would hold
no pattern,

and my thunder would
make no sound.


The black scattered
wildly,

Pulled by arching currents
caused,

carelessly by kicking
feet,

and children with their
thrashing paws.

So I shrugged a burnt
shoulder blade,

and replaced the cap on
my wet pen.

Maybe it will be much
clearer,

if tomorrow, I might
try again. 

I thought about the differences

between the lack of conversation and

silence

and thought that the latter suggests that

you are in another’s presence

and the two of you,

together,

are talking with gestures

that expose a quiet language

of

vivid expression

but with the lack of 

conversation -

you

     are

          alone.

(And oh, do you feel alone.)

Putting my Bright Eyes record on and going to just lay in bed for a little bit. This record is so special to me. Thought I’d let you guys know. Cue Friday night nostalgia.