archives

loss

This tag is associated with 360 posts

cannibal

take me to that great date spot, that place that is warm and probably expensive and that no one knows quite yet, including you, that area inside where those childhood memories of sitting sunlight and strawberry winters stay, where there is the punchline of a joke you memorized to tell to the right people, where … Continue reading

salv oj

is it the sad water of yesterday or the lack of it in today’s hydration that has me hung over the curl of a question mark in reverse, telling myself i’ll go on because i must, because i have been doing it this well this whole time. but i pause. what does it mean to … Continue reading

a conversation

Dear you, Yesterday it was our anniversary. This morning we spoke on the phone. There is a mess of you everywhere inside of me. With striking clarity I remember the fireworks that blew up the sky above us, the sky that for at least that night, that moment belonged to us – only us. But … Continue reading

the fallen

the following is small but huge and still, somehow, average. * she left not because you weren’t enough but because she wanted less of you   you were abundance the sun a lake summer   but winter always arrives

sum

the following is the aftermath of promising to never do poetry again. the following is also not poetry. * when was the last time you stopped measuring the length of now the instant between when things were figured out and when they were not how often you would say um not for a filler but … Continue reading

livingston

i have thought of that dead writer one last time. i spoke to her softly, told her that her book has been read once more. not often or quickly. but during a summer long ago on a beach. the sun was right. the water was warm. and some of the parts were good even if … Continue reading

agung

bali blew. a small explosion. locals said it was a thousand years in the making. you are only 26 and the sky is coloured dead. the moon is hidden. a mute gray enters my mouth. what am i to say now? you are watching the heart of the earth, listening to it tell an old … Continue reading

an old model of a lock

you told me to knock so i do. not too hard. you sleep light. few breathes have been known to flutter into being from your dreams. i remember when you told me one. the one of the good life. where you would be undressed save for mismatching socks. and there would be the food that … Continue reading

m ail

skeleton sparkling in the sun, what will i post today? will it be that you have never seen me so undressed so unblemished? that i fell in love with the bareness of the sidewalk this morning, but only from the safety of my 8th story window? that there was a girl because there always would … Continue reading

late this month

worn by soft light, you say your heart is heavy. the sky is coated in cold gray, neutered with smoke. i cannot see out my window. you grip my hands tighter, ask don’t you see, kacper, look at how good this news is. i try. in front is you, the colour of the earth, the … Continue reading