windrag : poetry : journal

lips sucked dry by winter night. above rooftops, scattered stars, as far away as friends. others, too, walk late, calming restless legs

a movie has me sobbing, alone, as the rivers flood their banks, the moon, both expected and forgotten, at once. to realize the self: impossible, and inevitable

ryokan kept his leg exposed when he slept offering himself as food to the mosquitoes i kill the ants in the kitchen without remorse fondly remembering my grandfather

the sun’s not hidden, though we haven’t seen it for days. the year’s not any more new than at any given moment. am i more or less lonesome, knowing this?

fascinated with the sound of the guitar but not so much with these same old fingers rain, like the brushing of strings with fingers so many possibilities