It’s so interesting how life works, how one little snag on the continuum of time can lead to your eventual doom.
I was recently watching The Final 24 documentary series on Nicole Brown Simpson. We all remember the story well. But in the recreation, we see Nicole’s mother accidentally drop…
Happiness is ….
feeding the pigeons.
No one tells you
how it will end,
or when you know
you’ve reached
a rock bottom heart,
where I imagine
echo and void dwell
in these badlands,
in these drylands,
a tumbleweed of memory –
your dress socks
rolled into a ball
in some dust bunny corner;
loose change
atop your dresser;
a slamming door
a room away;
a long shower;
another lukewarm meal
in relative silence.
Yet we still cling
to that other
in this darkness;
our driftwood bodies
busy becoming one
in this bed,
in this flood
of our making.
