31 Readings


I shared with you

my burning thread and

you swallowed it

like a sulphuric snake


in the pit of your belly

kept company by

the stones of your guilt

Smoky quartz on your breath

you measure words 

in mentholic wisps

which pass lips

self consciously curling up

towards the sky

the exact color of

the meat of a sliced


Your face my sky

moving like

Northern Lights

milky apparitions

that didn’t impress you  much

wrapped in flannel oppression

the weight of wool

Lopi is light unspun


the magic of this place

pulls apart under

tension of speculation

it can’t handle the tug


in the Icelandic rain  

we walked the whole way home

winding a strand

of wet black yarn

between our hands
Posted 04/06/17
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