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Literature Text
if the sandy tail wind has
dug holes in your back,
turn.
life is the ocean where
headwinds touch the heart the most deeply.
---
it was when I first slept after 1967 years of silence
with my feet on my pillow it’s high time you realized that
instead on your kneecaps ˚ a whisper and a click of a closing door
that my hangovers can be louder than
disappeared. shouts.
---
it was the first funeral
I cried at
that taught me
people are like tulips and hyacinths.
despite our fragility
we can still build lives on graves.
dug holes in your back,
turn.
life is the ocean where
headwinds touch the heart the most deeply.
---
it was when I first slept after 1967 years of silence
with my feet on my pillow it’s high time you realized that
instead on your kneecaps ˚ a whisper and a click of a closing door
that my hangovers can be louder than
disappeared. shouts.
---
it was the first funeral
I cried at
that taught me
people are like tulips and hyacinths.
despite our fragility
we can still build lives on graves.
Suggested Collections
Some doors close creaking painfully, some close with ease, but there isn't a door that's eternally opened.
--
We're always moving together against the winds so the first stanza is dedicated to Iva, my present anchor.
--
The second stanza is dedicated to me, because I'm an egoist and because it's difficult to share a single bed.
--
1967 is a very special number to me, that's the year my mother was born, and the third stanza is specially dedicated to her.
--
The fourth stanza is dedicated to everyone who have recognized the face on an obituary as someone they shared their lunch with.
--
I felt my own words in ~obeimtolko's summer wind. [link]
--
We're always moving together against the winds so the first stanza is dedicated to Iva, my present anchor.
--
The second stanza is dedicated to me, because I'm an egoist and because it's difficult to share a single bed.
--
1967 is a very special number to me, that's the year my mother was born, and the third stanza is specially dedicated to her.
--
The fourth stanza is dedicated to everyone who have recognized the face on an obituary as someone they shared their lunch with.
--
I felt my own words in ~obeimtolko's summer wind. [link]
