We had no camera so we made frames with our hands, blinked to fire the shutter and held the picture with faces squeezed shut, gone from the world for those moments as we tried to emblazon the image onto the insides of our eyelids, where it would hang for viewing with every blink, its presence…
Is there a magic formula for waking up with more resilience? A certain position to sleep in, a particular temperature to set the thermostat to, perhaps a single thought to cling onto like a parachute while drifting down to the ground, to sleep. I think I cracked it last night but I might not be…
Bubbles pressing against my back make me feel like I have intestines again and they are slowly unravelling knots untangling stress releasing troubles fading into no – thing.
So many poems I have written; why have none ever written back?