Monday, September 19, 2016


I read articles by authors who are laying out their guts for everyone to see and judge. More than their guts, they lay out their hearts. Sliced and pressed under microscopes, all the more easy to taste and discard them. 

<holds up to light. turns in hand. deems it a felt emotion, an experienced adventure; catalogues and reaches for the next>

And what am I doing? Hiding behind a desk and a title. Eager to make large moves and reflect, but not to dissect them for others' eyes. 

For my eyes. My reflection. 

Too afraid to revisit those lonely roads and flights and cities; to run my hands around my perfect nest. 

Where was I? 

Diving. Unwrapping. Revisiting. 

Digging and bearing witness. 

Making promises and casting my future. 

Do not make it all for naught.