I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways.

- Rumi

lullaby

The night doesn't end. It spills into day and sloshes and stains. I am not an owl. Not a night owl. Not I. I am awake. I curl the pillow under my head, raise it higher. Sleep noisy little head! But these thoughts, really, they are cancerous and never seem to stop. They grow, and grow, and grow, rising like dust, they swirl between these walls, whirlwinds, tornadoes, storms. Stardust? I dream with my thumb. I twist, new cheek kissing pillow piled on itself. I turn, and turn, and turn, ticking away on my bed. Wait a minute....is that sleep? Leftover night mingles with bad breathed morning, light unveils belligerent day to cut second hand sleep to pieces. And then, at noon, there is nothing to combat the grogginess of summer and sweat.

So you, too, having the time of your life?

cobwebs

my mind is in cobwebs today.

thoughts curl into questions
and unfurl
unanswerably.

as always.

the eye has a blindspot.
the body has a blindspot.
the mind is a blindspot.

perhaps the only way to miss them
is to be at their centre.

perhaps the only way to achieve
is to adjust in failure,
at its centre.

too many thoughts of gain.
so much to lose.

sometimes, sometimes
the mirror of the mind
is a hell of distortion
reflecting blindspots reflecting blindspots reflecting blindspots
ad infinitum.


should i just befriend the spider that crawls within?

invitation

dearest,

let's make love through art?

love,
a

when it comes to people who speak so much...

can we look for dignity in some kind of restraint,
seek favour from some form of silence?

embalmed

dearest,

once again
your words
anchor me in my solitude.

clasped in the silence of your tongue,
cradled by the swollen music of your mind,
this terrible loneliness
becomes a sudden home.



can there really be any other love than the unrequited kind?

i wish my body was as strong as adele's voice.

too much to ask?

sometimes...

good academic writing is mutilated, disfigured writing.

stories hollowed out by words that no longer tell.

only that which is built up

breaks.

knowledge is not your enemy.