and the crevices of the
held all the memories
reflected through
satellite dishes
onto back screens
of rose coloured petals
that only bloomed
if a child was
brave enough
to climb out of
the valley. And when
that child got her guts
and climbed, Every
flower bloomed
greater than the
first lotus flowers
in the garden of eden.
The petals sang floating
golden string choruses
of a thousand cellos.
The nectar inside was the taste
of a feeling when you touch
fingertips for the first time. And it
happened—the whole world was gifted with new
sense—because a child was brave enough to climb out of a valley.


insomnia pt. ?

i was on the bus

i hardly ever take the bus

i looked up from my book

and out the window

in the corner of my eye

i saw your name


well not Your name

but the same name

you use

and then

like the man in my book

who saw a face in the ocean

i saw your face

in the window

well not Your face

but the shape of your face

reflected and refracted in the light

of the window


and my heart


a visceral, volatile drop

the feeling of a freefall

but in my chest

down to my stomach

and then i knew

it had started

i knew i was fucked