I march as well.
I don’t know, I think I’m also just tired. I don’t remember and I’m tired. Yes, things are connected even if I want them severed. Pipes carry on, despite the clots and leaks. My day is full of parts, I scratch my eyes and unveil layers of sediment. Old body, old friend, back to bed, the little hills under my head, embracing privacy, a usual day.
I kept you waiting in a Roman dream, a she-death, and I heard you scratch. Waiting for you to pass, I felt some fear. I ultimately failed, middle-aged on my bed, there was never an easy way.
The sea has delivered.
thanks for being with me,
ana x