/

last night,
you had a tiny hole in your tights.

we are?
the nuances of sound
and rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain, staring broodily into the dark garden.
foaming the milk so the tiny bubbles dissolve into a rich, creamy surface...
muse? muse? muse? muse? muse?
the flickering trailing of film could be a muse.
and i can't write.

(but i'll be melpomene.)

avoiding the things i need to do,
and engorging, engaging in emotional depravity.
seeing only what i want to see.
as the starling in the garden hops to and fro,
clutches at a prize worm,
sailing upon the wind's blow.
i touch my hair in a way she knows.
and i try to write.

in the afternoon i like my mug of tea,
i check up on friends
hoping they will speak to me.
i remember now how
this bright screen intimacy,
doesn't translate to speech.

take me away.
so i'll have a reason to write
or a reason to fight
a reason to eat
a reason to sleep,
maybe then i will write.

starlings don't take flight.

Reviews

[deeps]

so i'll have a reason to write
or a reason to fight
a reason to eat
a reason to sleep,
maybe then i will write.

starlings don't take flight.


Love these lines here,
Full of feeling, like this ^_^