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There's not much to see.
In the window of my dreams.
Living space is bare.
I’d like to find the words
to cut right through the muck,
but when it comes to you
you know that I’m just stuck,

I ready up the blades
and soap clean my hands,
to work toward the heart
no matter where it lands—

All the things—
We said—
Will forever be dead—

But I’ll hold on—
Instead—
You’ll always live inside my head.
I think the words mean what I mean to say.
The stars giggle
Drunk on the dust
In the Milky Way
They tip over
Turning a fall into a dip
When I squint
I see you just like this
Dancing at the end of a stick

I would like to say
I wake up in the morning
Refreshed and ready
But I just squint through the light
Pouring through my window
Trying harder and harder to see you
As you disappear
All the grief,
all the pain –
I accept it
with both hands,
for it was given
to me
by the one
I love
Amber trees shed leaves
To make an earthy cradle
For new seeds to grow.
Saw a haiku. Felt like putting one together.
The start of anything new
often goes askew
in at least a way or two,
but don’t worry,
just be you,
and don’t write a lie
or try to pry
the words in the slightest.
They always know the best.
I write until something clicks. If it doesn’t click, I’m out of luck. If it feels true and just flows, that’s what I keep. It’ll come out in the shape it’s meant to be in—even it’s all over the page. Written in July 2025
Morning is not yet
dew is still wet on flowers
gentle glow of sun
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