Day 1794, model number.
Day 1793, tools.
My tools
are not as old as I am
~
they are part of me
but not unique
~
they can be passed along
when I am gone
~
if someone wants them
Day 1792, forwards.
Normally
when you fly
the forwards motion
pushes you up
~
maybe
we are out of shape
Day 1791, progress.
Sometimes the clouds
seem to be the only thing
that changes
Day 1790, the current.
Sometimes I lean against the current
so I don’t smell myself
Day 1789, dilute.
We often have to climb high
and far
away from our pride
~
before we can vent
whats burning
inside
~
and it can help
to stand straight
because appearance
dilutes
Continue reading “Day 1789, dilute.”
Day 1788, windows.
I wander
in my head
~
searching for a view
through a window in the rooms
facing the side
where the sun goes down
~
as if beauty
or the hope of a next day
beholds an answer
Day 1787, projection.
A light shines behind me
so I see
my shadow at the wall
~
it moves
and I guess
I do to
~
my shadow seems to know
before me
where I go
~
maybe I am the shadow
and turned on
this light
in front of me
Day 1786, bloom.
I landed with my face down
In a cold reality
of dead weeds and earth
~
when I looked up
just in front of me
I saw a gray flower
unopened
~
I wondered
when is the right time to bloom
Day 1785, and far.
I saw the whole sky
and far in the distance
it was beautiful
Day 1784, gives.
I never know
what gives
when the sun sets
again
Day 1783, exit?
I know
whats normally behind a door like that
a dead end when I go in
~
but I still go
searching for a way out
on the other side
Day 1782, leaning.
I always lean towards one side
when I visit you
~
it’s not always towards you
Day 1781, adorned.
I have adorned myself
so I could shine
when it was dark
~
in this harsh daylight
now
it looks sad
Day 1780, my side.
The side of me
that is colorful
will never let you in
~
it is not even
facing the sun
Day 1779, fading identity.
