I lose time,

cannot sleep until deep morning.

The rats in the walls wander

like dogs in chains.

A cat on the roof pounces,

an animal squeals

like a rabbit.

There are no rabbits.

worry

My gemstoned anxieties

worn everyday

as pierced earrings,  

ordinary things,

with a "not good enough" gleam. 

                                                                                                                                                       

Words leave my tongue

axially off, wobbled.

 

A broken rib, collar, or rim,

are remnant anger, or hypocrisy, 

held in. 

 

As a woman I must sense

be vigilant 

of all things that define my surroundings.


Why was I "gifted" a candled insight 

that illuminates but never warms, 

a warning, not a companion?

Will I find, too late, 

 I’ve fled

some part of myself 

I might have saved?

 "I'm all alone."

"And who do you think isn't?"

- Hugo and Josefin 1967

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love the independence and grace of solitude in urban and rural places. 

To see and meet the world on your own! To me, this is one of the great 

joys in life. For most women, this experience is indeed hard to achieve, 

one we have had to train for mentally, spiritually, and physically in 

a far, far different way than men.

We know also it will be a cyclical battle, one repeatedly fought throughout life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

these  two

renew

2

southern wind

rain

I see your tie

again

3

it never feels like much

such busy

lives

 

 

 

 

Ultimately, where do we want our attention to go?

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

barbed stone tools

 

 Hard-wired lives

we work in tribes

conflicted but resolute.

What we really need

is to ignore more,

live with less.

Rest.

Test the limits of you

who are your own disturber.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's not easy, this new life.

I've been searching for

3 years reprieve but I'm offered days,

paid one by one.

I'm left a bit unfit from this, and the cold.

A barking dog at night delights me,

as do playground voices of children,

gulls shrieking, animated conversations,

and cars grunting up this hill.

Here's the clank and whine of the iron gate

next to my house that's opened and shut.

What comes next?

I do not know.

Did I ever?

yellow

It turns out that the absence of color makes you more attuned to everything else."

- Olufur Eliasson 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

notes

 

 

 

Binaries of Tikum Olam

or more, with polyphonic overtones.

Sing, Anne Marie.

Bring Eliana's ashes here.

It's twenty-twentyone's end.

Charlemagne Palestine's bejewelled

notes

aren't

alone,

knows

Pauline Oliveros 

has an accordion.