How easy to
give   ourselves    over    in   skin   and
sentimental   patterns   yet    thoughts
traced   in   darkness   dishonest   and
daunting as if our bodies could really
tell lies

© A. Leigh

It looks like
I've taken a turn for the worse
I hit a fork in the road
And came down with some kind of voodoo curse

These monetary blues I must confess
They've taken away my happy-go-lucky
And put me under house arrest

My muse she flew out the back door
And is on the run
Screaming over her shoulder

It isn't a crime to be unhappy
But it isn't any fun

My dog is pure heart
Unconditional loving
Innocence in motion

I'm writing a love letter to all the stars I've never seen. Blowing sweet nothings into your windmill hearts. A sickness in the bones with the way some of you make me work for it.  Rustic Blues in my toes. I want to be a list of further crossroads, because we're all chasing something glorious.You're no glowsticks or fireflies but the headlights of a speeding train and all I know is I am nothing without you.

I'll stand on the edge of the platform, and call you starlight.  

The writer's paradox: We only exist when we are read and I think I've found my mobius strip. Twinkle me stupid, New Year feels like I could do this all over again.