Velvet water slushes back and forth,
Humming low.
Doors have been closed,
Lights switched off,
Cool strings on my Martin resonate with
thrumming washer, out of tune.
Luggage cannot fit all I have gathered --
A broken Buddha, paint pealed behind its neck,
Plastic pearls strung around the bed frame.
I turn my head away from the clockʼs blue light.
I listen to the hum, the guitar, the impermanence.
My lullaby.
im going to be posting some of my poems here....
so basically this is the weirdest blog ever.
