personal, Poetry

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eyebrows

I was so sure it was spelt with an “i”

and the more I look at it,

the more I want it to be.

That apostrophe.

In a much more logical place

I would have told myself,

and logic got me through

when I was too tired to remember

(well, my logic. turns out that wasn’t objective…).

And speaking of logic,

there was more space to fill,

and I ran out of ideas,

I mean, how much is there to be said about one’s own appearance

when one doesn’t understand the task

in the first place?

In the second place,

one needs a great ending.

Is what I hope I was thinking

and not

hey,
where the heck are my eyebrows?

Somebody? Anybody?

I’ve never noticed this before.

Should I be worried?

 

I wasn’t broken

just a little tired.

Oh so tired…

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personal, Poetry

childhood (condensed)

img_20170219_151828_466-2

tomboy in a tutu

achingly moltened by music

that conjures the swell

and spills you

my heartbeat craving to express

the unspeakable

unsing-able

truthfulness

of cascade four dimensional

electrodes through to terminal

sated by chords of complex clarity

translated without disparity

in a child’s

plasmaglobemind.

(The seed for this post was planted by Yassy. Thank you!)

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