outside the land winds and there are oceans swelling into birds and someone somewhere is seeing today as today and today I am writing this

I sat with a mirror and kept changing the distance of my face my pain was wider than time the air doted on me

we wonder if the poet misses the real sky, the one that swallows you whole, that sheds its skin at dusk and drinks the wails of gods

Muteness, that was the word that lodged itself in me that morning. The feeling or general disposition I had been trying to locate.

I want something from you I can’t get because what I want from you is me

When I think of the possibility of dissolving I don’t have a problem with the action. The problem arises when I begin thinking about the residue that I might leave behind

The colour I breathe in has turned purple. This is because in a day or two, I have already washed our towels, and you will get groceries, and you’ll go to the market, down the river

outside the land winds and there are oceans swelling into birds and someone somewhere is seeing today as today and today I am writing this