The subway commuters are honing in for home, dazed from respiration in other landscapes not their own. It’s the last minute visit, dinner at eight, or just frank and beans, I’m not sure which, which snaps them from the daze, up to the streets. I’ve made it to the bar, drinking bourbon. Cigarette in hand, hat on at the door. My stomach waits for a bowl of peanuts, just out of reach. Erase the bar, pool table, and the drink on my own.
This is all such a privilege.
I'm in New York; I am making blank of paper.

I see my own reality, yet I’ve been guilty of refusing to live it.
The street signs say Front and Pearl, a pinpoint measure. I recite the "Our Father" by memory, it's always wrong, but not by punishment. I see my own reality, but sometimes I live in others. It's quite socialistic, but not the way of god.

I had removed myself, from me. As this happened there were a series of repercussions. My car got taken, my job became a dangerous joke, I then lost my home, decisions became an agonizing process and suddenly everyone loved is let go to disappear. I was capable of living a day in 20 minutes and finding exhaustion from it. I thought about telling this story while it happened, but had I the ability, I would have already understood. That if I refuse to live my life someone else will take it. My memory of things is unclear, but visceral.
A summer bedroom on the upper West Side.
My heart hurts.
I play a game alone to nurse suspicion and depression.
a book
redsheets whiteandredcurtains, breeze sky looming comforter handsomesilence
the book of prophets.
thealarmisset at 6, thewindowisopen, ihavetosettle
The page opens it’s self
Jesus was talking, which was a bit ironic, he mentions something that would most certainly stick. He said that I should take what is mine. That those who don’t have their lives taken.
it’sasin
ifallasleep
I notice the woman’s voice within me, until I don’t.
When I was a little girl I would see her all the time in my dreams. The waking dreams, the sleepbridge place, she said. And fortunately for me she looked just like Princess Leah, donned with cinnamon rolls and a white dress.
Painted yellow walls redandwhitecheckeredbedspreadwithanimalprints, Ben, giraffe, the twotwinbeds, and sister on her sleepbridge.
Paralyzing dreams and there she is standing in a space filled with oversized knots. My knots and she doesn’t say a word that lady, she just stands three quarter turned, facing off to my left, just far enough away that I don’t see her face in detail, but that’s okay because I know I’d just give her a princess face. She’s looking off to my left, but she’s attached like an umbilical, so that’s how I know she is the one who speaks to me too.
I was driving away from Chicago the last time I heard her. Skyline Drive, the sun was making it’s midwestern appearance, as was the traffic. I’d just had sex with a woman who had two cats on her shoulders, I kissed her there first.
darkwarmbedroom, heavydrawncurtains, waterfall headboardoverfeatherbed, Patsy Cline, and Sade. This the space she shared with her lover she'd been away and I'd slipped in..
I kissed her there, on those tattoos, before I kissed her goodbye.