Reading Stitches
Books, Poetry, Things I Wish I Knew For Sure, and not all that much about Knitting

Jul 11, 2012


Close your eyes.
Do not sleep.
Watch as your blood and your day

It is only you here...

You will sleep soon enough,
Dream your bloodless dreams
While you can.
It’s not true that we dream too much

There is...

Between darknesses,
Between light strikes,
The fragrance: burnt coffee and
Moldy books, damp alleys and old puddles

A fine, thin scent of bitter flowers
Only lately past their pink and yellow prime.
It is all familiar, yet takes your breath away.
Keep watching

Always something...

It’s warm in this fog-filled hallway,
Hiding mirrors and self-portraits
From yourself,
The warmth is your heart



I can’t see the trees for the forest.
Blind and needy, I peel back the bark with rough movements
And trembling hands, exposing crawling and desperate
Insects and the red raw life at the core of my sightlessness.
My self so close to the tree - at first I am overwhelmed by the sweet scent
Smashing my face inside.
Having invaded so carelessly, and with such rush, soon
I am dizzy, repulsed -
Nauseated by the suddenness of the present.