the wet morning after a full moon
    as she grows slimmer
    on the other side of the waters

the sun shines brightly
    peeking through so many trees
    seeking me out
finding the skin of my eyelids
    and shoulder blades

the phenomenon of a warm unanticipated
    touch from the sky

.

and now searching becomes the focal point

journeying, always
    are we

is there a moment of rest
    ,truly?

if forward is all there is

where is now?

.

i like to battle the elements
    with tiny movements
whenever i can

pushing up against gravity,
    resisting its pull

talking back to pain

reflecting on death,
     even as i breathe
    ;

the little things which prove our power,
    though we are small
   
aren't these our strange miracles?

picking up that which has fallen,
    setting it back to rights

the beauty of a car swerving around you so it doesn't hit you as you walk home~ that's gotta mean something, right? your life meant enough to something else in the world that they made a conscious effort to make sure you stayed alive.

words from the floating world

hello, blank journal entry - where have you been all my life? i'm up later than usual and i urge my consciousness to vomit forth data from its depths else i will surely perish. i challenge the concept of meaning to show me its exact size and vastness. the small and sensual sounds of mouths licking lips and articulating words, the language of sounds in between words the crackling hiss and pop of vinyl, a time capsule containing the full spectrum of human emotion lost to the sands of time