thethetawaves
Tapping onto a pane of glass, drips of water create areas of momentary activity. I roll over, counting the spaces in between the beats, tip, tap, dropping on top of the sill.
Standing in the aisle, swaying along with the bus, clutching the handhold for her life with one hand. She has a small pouch at her hip with its straps slung across her body. She uses her free hand to pull out a folded pocket-sized photo from the bag, of her home. Her first love and her city, now gone.
Poison is in every drop of our blood. It pumps through us with purpose, like it belongs, and why shouldn't it- we welcome the toxins. From our food to our water to the things our brains consume, like little white lies, we invite the poison in. The poison is in every breath that we breathe. Come on in, give me the poison, I want the smokes, give me a lighter. The poison sticks to our skin, hangs on our clothes, covers our hair like sooty rain. We can't see it, we're all too used to the poison.
I rode the school bus every day in middle school. There were kindergarteners up to high school seniors on our bus, and the number one rule: don't fall asleep on the bus. Once, a guy ended up with trash from the floor in his mouth, and one other time, someone's CD player ended up missing... Kids are cruel to each other, but the bus is life, life is the bus at that age...
the root is like the beginning
the source, the creator
but it moves and grows with the body
a body that lives and changes
and abides in its creator
abiding in each other
you and i,
root to tip
Everything and everyone becomes ill because we are all connected like leaves touching branches or knees bumping into each other on the train. Spreading, spilling out onto each other, sharing our illnesses, our flaws, our secrets, our ghosts. Like leaves on trees we fall and scatter together, dying separately but all at once.
She rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and staring into the white pedestal sink. Something was after her, trying to get to her pale dust covered bones.
Trying to find the way to you
Pieces of paper like gold in my hands
Distance is weird like that
Makes me draw up tickets made of air
for you
I just want to drop this baggage here
I think that it's time you came back. I loved the free trial I had of you, and I'm ready to commit and have you forever.