Category: stream-of-consciousness
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It’s like a mirror reflection of last year—refraction—choking on my own tears, a projected me shaking thescreen, shuddering, thoughts like a train station: oneinoneoutwe hit a quiet station once—you leave—I slip my handclose—and then the oncoming traffic of thoughtsswallows mewhole— hollow—curetted. scrapings in a tray.a click of suction, then a pull.you lift what’s left in…
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wine hair tickling my nosechapstick sweeteyes dry—did I even blink?streets smell like spirits & dior & someone suggesting peaches and strawberries as if that were new at bristolrain frets in the treesbirds click their little instrumentsokay, breathefresh-book sting up the sinusesmy eyes bounce—newton’s cradle—stop itring, turnpalm, clammy on the leather strapshoulders back—are you sure?—posters say…
The Anxious Poet 