cdlxxxii. being heavy

writing is a way to bring the words heavily onto the page slightly nervous from their birth.

cdlxxvii. evening

when evening comes, we take our glasses, break them, sweep up the shards to break them again tomorrow.

cdlxxvi. silent words

darting in the sun like needles of rain.

cdlxxv. where is your mind in this?

if you are lucky, it is nowhere to be found. just somewhere infinite with all the bellies thrown together. one bone-cracking noise breaks clearly through and no one there to listen.

cdlxxiii. blackout

tonight, it will be dark. again. the last candle melts away. there isn’t much to do but to wait.

cdlxiii. the bureaucracy

we are a cold hard part of a necessary process: repeating through the years repeating.

cdlx. wet/dry

the best season is silence.

cdlix. days of confusion

it’s too warm for september. when the sun goes down, it goes fast. i confuse the cream with smoke but no one notices, and no one notices me.

cdlii. coming home after dark

is it any wonder that sometimes your most real, your most unpretentious, your least barrier to honesty that you put into words, the more people ignore?

cdlvii. waking up

you will learn that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff, he will not fall until he notices his mistake.