(14) 

i wait
for the day i wake
to find a pocket of a pulse pressed
beneath my thumb. 

by then i would have floundered—
kissed the lips of failure
stumbled ungallant into truth 
and joy and flightless courage—

and won. 

(13) collages 

I weave through photographs of the nameless beautiful, miles and miles of life splattered on pieces of paper-thin memory — cut and taped onto white surfaces. And they tell me my room is lovely, the center of a tumultuous character. But they mistake desperate hope for maddened inspiration; desperate prayers for infinite faith. Make it be known: my walls are stained, wrought with the fruits of my shallow discontent. 

(12) 

stop the freight train
sailing in the air and 
see the 
sky 

break in two. 

(11)

25. 3. 2011

Between consciousness and dreaming: 
afraid of something; 
my heart beats in jerks of malevolence — Ba. Dum! BaDum! Ba. Dum! BaDumBaDumBaDum! — my self-imposed prison will protect  me no longer because a voice in my head whispers to me everyday, and suddenly I am thinking of things I don’t understand, and believing that there is no use in believing in anything. Make the voice stop and I won’t dread being 

Awake: 
…The fear blows alway, leaving  a faint drumming in my chest (enough to know that I am alive). Let us waste these hours and pretend that in two days the world will end. Because I am 

Intoxicated with indifference and apathy:
(and the frustration in knowing that I have to be anything but, that I will be anything but), I catch a though in my head (is it mine? my mother’s? my father’s? yours? hers? his?) but it flees, as any good notion does. And them I’m back, melding further and further into the walls of my sanctuary, knowing that it’ll be harder to peel myself away for the next battle —  

It is a good exercise for the soul to remind ourselves that we are not the center of the universe.