bringing it back banana bread

heartheadached

listening to your old songs made up on the spot just letting it come or something like that
soft blows to the soul all day
for the last few even, a little bruised

efforts made here & here, see
(my flesh being your flesh)
she spoke to me, she said ju

sequencing in my head, in retrospect
singing to myself from myself
a brief moldavite encounter and so many thoughts rolling rolling
crashing into myskull
clavicles creak open
heartshell hums






love and vague love
life unfurling itself slow
on the one hand and in the other,
life giving itself away

release
lie with it, feel half-dream within it
awake alive and bright

you are shown again how to surrender to the process

 
in silence or singing mindlessly
that eyes roll back into skull feel
slight definition, half-light

soaking your soul in a dark puddle
apply pressure and repeat

    half-sleep

future looms bright and giddy
breathe out sit back -
i am excite.

i fuck myself
the world fucks me

purely, infinitely

i fuck myself
love fucks me

blissful firebreaths through me

i fuck myself
my soul fucks my body

i be come
a cycle complete

one of these days, and very soon (even if it seems like lifetimes), it will resolve.

i have aches, i am ill. it washes over me til i find myself sleeping for centuries at a time - this deathstyle could not be mine, i feel my heart and my mind will not stop rolling under riptides and surfacing for the first time baptized twice and seventy-five i'm up to my last time this time surely there will be a break  sometime
i
need
air

so i push through the fear and wake earlier year by year by/a new beginning breathes life back into the air. have you seen the trees out here? i swear they've been round hundreds of years, they twist and stretch and split and blossom, you are missing it dear

so much hidden, so much hiding still

where will you end up? where will you start up? where will you middle up?
i have an irrational anxiety lightly ebbing, south beach as opposed to cottesloe. it consists of home and loved and potential and/or lack thereof. but there is so much! why not just grasp it? you have hands, you have ideas. you have not been digging, love.
listen back, re-compile. create. re-create also, you have it all at your fingertips. administrate, adjudicate.

it is so very necessary to get proper sleep. you must take in the luxuries while you have them, juju, you must absorb all that you can and then expel it again don't just keep it cooped up in there all pidgeon-holed and birdshitdiseased. either that or let it decompose post-mortem first and then see what texture appears. you like that sorta shit.

so potential, hey? frustrating when your most accessed or most natural talent is currently swinging about in the rafters also, having forgotten where the ladder was. teetering on the moulding beams, knowing 5 stories and thick red velvet curtain wait beneath but carefree... hundreds of tiny flashing eyes blinking featherbrained and fearful from darkest corners.
time, m'dear. one way or another you'll hook her. keep paddling out, or climbing up disjointed staircase, or scratching purposefully at the tiny pieces of stuff that create the surface - so much hidden

so much hiding still...