birds

birds bathing in gutters on the roof. birds sitting on the table looking closer at my breakfast. birds fed by another consumer with his breakfast from the bench. birds coming and going enjoying their wings. birds breathing like me but a little more free.

on our phones

we visit the courtyard on our way to bed. the forecast says the moon is due to glow blood red and disappear into our shadow. looking up for the eclipse we see little beyond unwanted light between the walls of other wards. nothing worth a wish or staying outside any longer. we can't have the moon tonight. at least we can still watch it on our phones. 

whatever I think of the drink

fresh air today and rain. they say I can leave for an hour. I walk up over the hill across the road into a cafe recommended by the nurses. between new movement and colour I sit inside and I am just another patron, free to order coffee, sit and laugh a while. the coffee is too strong or my taste is too weak but this is much more about the play and the props than whatever I think of the drink. soon they'll have me back onstage to do this every day. I wasn't ready to stop when I surrendered. will I be ready to start when they call me back again?

tomorrow et al.

letting go to be where I am. I write to myself on the last day of summer. there are dreams I can't remember and mistakes I drag into every day like shadows. they monitor my vitals and all is well for now. as I'm told I do my best to listen to their voices more so than my own, to see that this is where I need to be, that whatever else can wait and doesn't matter quite as much. I read the news and think about the world beyond the ward and what it means to be where I am and letting go to do so. and so we sleep and dream through bombs birthday cakes massacres mardi gras white cliffs waiting rooms another string another season until tomorrow et al.

red voices

read away red voices

listen to tick of

starlight

tissue for consumer shakes

slipping blankets and

vitals

waiting in purple

think of other sounds and places

colours

outside soon

incidental

I dream of days beyond myself and love and clothes that never fit. cures and curses all return to dust. I am the spear and I am the scar and I am incidental.

seeing myself

someone else takes the reigns to lead me through another puzzle in the bardo. I follow their tracks as best I can: reaching in the dark, trying to hide healthily. they cover my mirrors with paper and tape. I wash my face and think about drawing a smile.