the vector of a new geography of words between

to stink. then to think.

slightly cracked and a little limp-like from being sapped
i get over tears...and all those things they come with.
moan to the full moon in a desert
cry to the sharp onion knife as it slices by and by
chili, ginger, garlic
time, mine, her
what, i, said
what, you, did
how, could, we
be, so, silly

to drink

copy + paste:
'I sip slow and feel it flow through my throat into my veins, and the stains of yesterdays gone by escape the corner of my eye.'

dancers

i ask you to dance. but i bring all the wrong moves. all the right ones are inside somewhere so deep and layered over. exposed. i trip. instructor: "see her body like it was your own" i cant see? "then listen and respond" my ears are facing my insides? "be numb and follow" i cant keep up... "dance alone for a while" ok

on no wind

if there is no wind in your sail, where do you go? you can wait it out in the stillest of seas, head for an island off the middle of Mozambique or power an engine - or some mad external force - and try all you can to move ... onwards. fk my propellor just catches ducks im heading towards the mangoes. sidetracking. because all the good advice, the stoney parables, the one line zen direction guides only tell you the right thing not the most interesting...

we did didnt we?

i thought we set sail once. to an island no one knows. did we not find the flying fish who were fleeing each others space?
when they fling themselves in the air, desperate to disappear, they know not where they will go. in flight they pass by and exchange looks of wonder, sometimes fear. but they often never see that fish face again.
to fly and land. that is it. they jump to fly and land.
simplicity can sometimes define the most complex of movements.

to my lovely...

i want to know... like sarstedt, haddaway and la bouche... where do you go

ok ill try turn the volume down : "oh oh ay yo" "oh oh ay" "oh oh" "ay" "..." ""

...a thought that drives a pin slowly through my liver

to where i will go

will you be loud at night?
will i lie covering my ears from your noise, holding back the tears. as i move to another place i wonder. will you be the one to hold me?

sometimes i think

knuckle taking bend and click

i begin. with finger bones, knuckle taking bends and click ...

i start with history. taken in too quickly, then waiting for a subside. a sub side, another line. But history can also be invented, made to fit and entertain: like a t shirt commemorating a marathon in some small town in your birth year. if it did happen and you just found the sweaty relic at the granny shop it matters in a way that the world seems to want - as a validation of fact
but... if you made it up in screens, it matters as an idea entertained, a story invented. something present... and life takes a small turn towards magic.

yours begins when no one else is around. fighting for life when the world dives.