tahariel: (Make something)
day off

Sunday blanket
curled up love-warm laptop humming
I watch a documentary, years-old learning
slowly
weekend food is scavenged, grazed
from an empty kitchen, used pans patient, stacked
for washing. Not today.
Outside sky blue air crisp autumn.
tahariel: (Cloud for brains)
Headache day = not fun. But I wrote another poem today. It's weird; I was never much of a poet before, but I'm quite enjoying it now. It's like all my creativity is finally finding enough headspace to come back in from the cold wastes of the last few years of struggling to squeeze out enough words to fill a post-it note.

p.s. I know it is not Sunday today but it made a better title


slow sunday prose

I fall in love with
                        narrative
and tone
when
a story is not just a story but
a window; watching
other people’s lives like
            falling
leaves
                        and
                                    blasphemies
and
            the smell of skin under glass
I like to live vicarious
                        deep-ocean feelings
then shelve them when I’m full and brimming with
sweet soft sounds of
distant loves and

pages turning

tahariel: (Default)

You are not
            awake
                      yet.
I messaged you last night by email.
We often speak in pixels; telephone rarely.
Electronic best friend,
  Somewhere you are a person
On the other end of our paper cup ---- and ---- string
    Speaking into the electric air.
I receive your words at the notification sound.
No face
  No outer shell
                  We commune, plugged in
                                  mind to
                                          mind.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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tahariel: (Default)
tahariel

December 2011

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