Resolution

To wear my fear on my sleeve
A gown woven from a web
Spun by a spider

wind tunnels

wind tunnels through my hair; leaves levitate.
Morrissey murmers murder in my ears; no one else hears but i hear no one else.
is anything more beautiful? i don't know i just breathe in the sound

"Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet. "

-Alain de Botton

There are only two ways I desire to know people…intimately, or not at all.

a poem called winter

no one can break my heart the way bukowski can

above, the spectrum ranges from moody and stormy to opaque and cloudless to coquettish to simmering to playful to sad to weeping yet we never shun the sky. the range of emotion in the human experience is a mirror image of the sky but never garners the same acceptance

Drawn again to the bone coloring of winter--statue and marble and brick and shrub drained of color--everywhere the same bleakness, but look how with a touch of violet from the sky it stirs.