Thursday, April 30, 2009

.Take care of yourself, you peaceful, sea-foam beach house.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

It's always times during which I fixate on detail that I begin to feel at peace in my corridor. I ruminate on things like loose hemming on a silk slip in order to feel detached from the prison of a numb disposition. How is it possible to return home to emptiness? What kind of home possesses void? 

While taking a nap next to complete strangers, I've begun twisting myself in to knots over what's forbidden from me; transatlantic endeavors hang over my numb shoulders like a colloquial explanation for fear. Semantics can provide as much comfort as a heartless prayer that has been birthed from a proud intention. 

Illusions seep in to my sleep and disrupt any environment in which peace could consciously exist. 'Tis far too late to unravel unsuspecting thread; I was too naive to catch it at the first knot; I've already cradled the acidity of apathy.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

an encasement too small

My dear little patio, so esteemed in my nostalgic perspective. She's so modestly furnished and starved for adornment. I am nothing but comatose at the thought of her figure. I've crossed my fingers before. May I share a little sympathy on her behalf? She's skin and bones. Yet, all I I've loved are the ferns and my cloves. Should the lantern burn out whilst I am turning pages, I'd be quick to strike a match. Why then is she so famished for my concern? What an empty little dwelling I've created! You see, it takes both my recipient & I to score the surface of an awakening. After months of what I'd perceived to be confiding, I'd found myself concealing. My bottom lip possesses a tendency to turn downward. Denial cannot exist in a face like mine; I've confronted my inability to purse. Should his heart grow too large for it's encasement, it may begin to leak into my speech.