sunnuntai 27. huhtikuuta 2014

Lovers lost

At night she thought about lovers lost. The fragility of bonds and promises and opportunity. The words exchanged in the early hours of the morning, when it was too late to go to sleep and too early to get up. Sweat seeping into the sheets, saliva drying into white crust around engorged lips and eyes batting away at the sudden, too-sharp image of a man laying next to her. Everything that had passed was replaced by a tangible disconnect right then and there.
She imagined the weight of these men on her, these past lovers, each who had touched and known her in their own ways. The reflections of her in the glassy surface of their eyes, her voice in their ears repeating things she had become bored of repeating. Their hands, always their hands because instead of looking at their faces as they touched her, she looked at their hands. Smoothing her over, appreciatively, and how for that brief moment she loved them for it.
If you could piece her together from all these fragments of memory, she couldn't help but think she would come out badly. Needing, searching, but always ultimately indifferent. Demanding to have it all, every inch, every thought and every breath and then disregarding it, scrapping it and forgetting it in a heartbeat. She didn't like to think of herself as cruel, but sometimes she wondered.

sunnuntai 20. huhtikuuta 2014

torstai 17. huhtikuuta 2014

Chelsea

I hope whoever lives in this house smothered by pungent wisteria consider themselves very lucky. I was having my usual lunch hour stroll around my new work neighbourhood in Chelsea and came across this beautiful thing. The streets were covered in powdery pink, velvety petals slowly detaching themselves from the trees as if to match the baby blue and mint green façades of houses.






perjantai 11. huhtikuuta 2014

Downstream and up

Passing downstream, tongue weighed down by Charon’s obol
The taste of metal fixed forever inside the mouth that never found the words
Safely transpired now, lightweight and lost
Blinking into the black star-charted sky
And the things that hide in the deep, watchful of the final journey, feel nothing
They can’t know
They can’t know this body that I have carried
The body that was touched by hands that were soft, tender and sometimes rough
The things it lost, regained and lost again, for ever
Their eyes don’t fall upon the secret markings, the treasure map of life
They have no inkling of
this momentous shattering of a continuum
This washing of the ultimate tide
that leaves us clean, clear and cold

perjantai 4. huhtikuuta 2014

Sweet, sweet Magdalene





Sell my car to the moving man -
I'm the sea and you're Japan.
No great morning, no rising sun.
No Gatsby in me I'm running from.


Feeling like Justin Vernon today. Where's my isolated cabin.