katie 6d
today you
pray that the air
will hold
your weight,
that with
every step
the fear will
dissipate &
you will
be as ubiquitous
as sky, just another
passer by
who can force the
head & heart
to mend & for
a time pretend.
katie Aug 6
that list of things to do
hangs like a view filled
with heavy grey clouds  

you watch & wait for
the bird that will make
the first tear that will crack

open the light with its flight
& flood the gloom, restart a
body, factory, city, awaken

it from its misery & allow it to
see what could be
katie Aug 6
you've wrote
yourself off
the day is done,
12 o'clock &
your bed beckons-
so painful it is
to breathe in you,
still yours a trickle
compared to the hoards,
their collective
grief a rainpour
flooding the streets,
so breathe-
wash off the grime
in skin & mind,
you may not
feel it now,
but there's many
of your kind.
katie Aug 4
you see it
running, a fox
tearing up the land
at the edge of
a run down farm,
down a battered
road you've not
visited alone.
but you end up
around & driving
home, returning to
the safety of
the town &
letting the wild in
you drown.
katie Aug 4
the mouths
move in a
troop but
nobody is
it has always
this way
the same
play performed
day after day
& night
after night
to a room
in the dark
that can't
find the light.
katie May 13
the language
isn't clear.
it sits in
orange pits.
lines cabinets
made of wood.
unopened and
it asks too much,
of those who
just beneath
awake, who skim the
surfaces of
lakes, dodging
the quakes.
too scared at what
might disturb
beneath the earth.
katie May 12
on the
highway road
when the traffic
is tight
as clams, and the
heat is
full on jammed, i want to peel
back the metal and see
the complexity
that carries me. i want
to stop and
admire the sun
pull back the skies and
sear my
mesmerised eyes.
i want to run
across a field
and feel the damp grass
beneath my heels,
over the dust and ants,
and listen to them dance.
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