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catching a bus to the drowning
Jumped on Jumped off Jumped in And slowly, Wetly, Sank.
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waiting for Rangitoto
There is no comfort in this night. No rum coloured sunset, no gently brewed laughter that bubbles from your throat. All there is is this dark, that seeps in through sodden skin and builds icicles
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here.
here, where the roots of trees break the bones of hills here, where the sunlight splutters and fails here. this really is it, isn't it, right here.
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I. Will not. Floss
I Will not Floss. I Will not Stick bits of plastic in my mouth to rip between the edges of my teeth and shred my sensitive-ish gums to validate your bloody marketing and wholesale purchase of
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these hands
i think of apu every time I sharpen our knives. these hands could be his hands, holding the stone cupping the water testing the blade. chemtatrawta chuan chem a tat rawt rawt a... but they
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in the places that we aren't
there's a song, sometimes, in the places that we aren't; there's a scream there's a sigh there's a smile. there's the earth, sometimes in the places that we aren't; there's the sky there's the
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Hawi-lo-par
there is a darkness in these stacks, rising from the stardust and skin of other people's memories. our memories are buried with the ancient dead and grow as the hawi-lo-par: flowers of
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