in the light play between the john street beeches i thought i caught a glimpse of you.but that couldn't be rightand is only half true. will I ever sleep again (and if i do will i dream of you)? i am a mystery, as you are to me; but we've both been 23, and therein lies the … Continue reading will i ever sleep again (and if i do will i dream of you)?
i rested on the handle of my spade and smoked. i witnessed a congregation of privet, solemn hemmed and so cuffed with berries that even the herring birds, oddly black against the cloud, eschewed with cackles and coughs and with caution; such is tumbling rubbish on a breeze. i worked a thread of wet tobacco from my tongue to … Continue reading the bitter taste of almost breathing
coddled on the northeast coast as an autumn guest, we sweated a weekend out between her sheets until, the colour of almost - boiled albumen, i became. haltwhistle©reeves2019
she wrote a poem once and maybe i'm deluded but i thought it was for me. she wrote - oh - a thousand poems in her time and none but this one were for me. i looked into her grayed eyes and that day they were cameras to me. i looked at her lips … Continue reading cameras to me
I am the ghost. I am the breath of a ghost. I am a sigh. I am the blink of an eye. I am a dream. See these headlights and tail-lights? - I am the nothing between. I am the silence, the siren, The thought and the theme. I am the second hand, the minute, … Continue reading Never Been Seen.
Barely rested, but with fevered beats beneath my skin, I drew her supposed aroma in and out and in again and all around this sleeping creature my world contracted and expanded; and I wondered of her dreaming. To pass the time I figured cracks, pretended craters, dead seas, frontiered charts across her ceiling. On … Continue reading Imagined Matins.
