Usually I meticulously stress over my writing, basically rewriting and reformatting everything spanning from days to even months to ineffable lengths no longer bound by the observable spacetime continuum in disjointed perpetuity.

So this is an exercise perhaps in part for my own health. I am simply releasing this one in a relatively unaltered state.

Then I totally went back and edited it a couple times.

Warning: contains a footnote.

title sized fonts are finger bends wasted 

Red light, the red sweater lettered swelled in overcoat clusters, hoisks[7] around the waiting, car light, street below

Pangs the rain

Tall and Violent

pounding at my window droned in ruthless bellowed ringlets

and the smell of snow in light January wisps to tenderkiss the fray in glimpses

and the ghost of the dress that hangs low

I’m making a playlist that accompanies your comforting blows.

I’m making a season of words in little black scratches etched screaming in the back of your chaperone crow, lost

somewhere unheard in a thousand bare treasons, underneath or in the branches

where your web feathers sowed. 

for now just you and I, clawed and catch, and his iniquity rendered bare as stone,

quiet thoughts erupt soaked in ravenous,

and the bones of songs unwritten, scattered matched to the crackling in air.

water and fire

much the same

different pyre.

7. Hoisk

noun

1. an extremely bulky winter jacket that contains multitudes of puffiness to a degree that eventually envelops the wearer, combining at the molecular level until neither entity remains distinguishable. “bitch’n hoisk Susan, don’t do drugs”

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