pieces.

-on a business degree...

i'm
taught the obvious,cemented
in vacant crevices.Chase
they tell me.
chase and compete.
chase and
kill. primal
instinct. utter animals,
disturbing.
humans as dispensable
rats(race).
mockery of life
i
refuse
to chase, follow,
overtake, stab
in the back, smile
at my step ahead.

stroll by my side instead, i
persist, there's more to life than just
this.

-on a sense of acute lost-ness....

''sense of purpose'' forgiven self.
forgotten. 'Purpose'
Direction.Dictionary definition.
Lost, life explanation.
consquence of an aimless
pursuit when
unclear of who/what/where to pursue.
unworthy
of my time and energy and yet
i
run
circles circles purposeless circles.

your tone remains consistent mellow purple

mauve lilac lavendar

the subtle shades insinuate

your anger, displeasure.
.

i await bated blue breath

for the calm the storm or even

being stuck in your epicentre.
.

callous caring can indeed

be worse than cruel indifference,

or overwhelming love.

reflections.



pitiful obsolescence of my presence in your life, i am
the extra letter carelessly tossed in, typo
my existence, use
less, in words, sentences,
feelings.

All the king's horses, and all the king's men

couldn't put Humpty
together again.

My baby,
I wonder what nightmares darken the insides of your eyes
enclose your eyeballs with
swirling black anguish.
I watch you for hours, scrunching
eyelids tight,writhing
in white bedsheets as if you
unconsciously wrapped yourself in bandages
(before the war even began).
And I
too far to calm you with whisper
voice, or touch.


My darling, I wonder
what grotesque, appalling ordeal could possibly
make you whimper, so.
Your barely audible moans
chills the marrow in my bones, stiffens
fingers, blood. 
And I
too far to translate
screams to symphonies, laments
to lullabies.


My love,
you say your nightmares involve
me.I wonder what you mean.
Could love horrify the soul
into pieces, asleep? I
will not leave.
Do not allow absences to frighten,
fracture souls with fear.
When I
too far to suture pieces together,
Too far
to remedy,
repair.

the journey.

Momma told me to go get fixed, child. stay happy.
except happiness was not the cure.
So i went to see the shrink he said it
would help if i wrote.

It wasn't the cure, but I
plunged hands into my mouth and removed wads of
paper and tissue, old cardboard, magazines no one
wants to read anymore,
and still the words wouldn't come.
what came instead was mind-vomit florescent
green neon blue and daisies
in pink with frills.
think happy child, they had said.

i want to read she said
the cure, holding onto Pamuk, Ondaatje in hand
and Eliot leading the way across
vacant lots with newspaper scraps i am
an old lady. My soul is stretched tight
across the skies. Nut in blue, silver
stars i am afraid of the night it
reminds me of Him.