Monday, April 30, 2012

I'm going to

Crack and cry soon. I think it's been two years. Maybe three. Vindaloo curry. Heat. Exquisitely cruel love. You, my love. The shadow of earth in space. The pinnacle of a suburban garage roof, gritty shingles digging into an inner thigh. Loss.


  1. I used to say that I wrapped myself with invisible chord while I cried, so that no one would hear and find me. Choking off the sounds, convulsing in tears. (hug)

  2. You've made a beautiful prose poem out of a difficult situation. Hope the curry fire helps to burn a hole in the pain.