be like a poem never will be written

how does one describe the exhalation of breath

the incomplete gesture the

tangible space suddenly

apparent?

there is a part of me died with you

a fragment

a trailing cry pulling at my hair

wanting to lash out and

break…

something to see

the color of blood as

a way in

as a way out

to look for you

all this is like a poem that never will be written

to die to find you

to leave this alien place premature

and come home

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when life was wonderful

i wanna say how grateful i am. what a wonderful life. today is gonna see rain in a dry land. what could be more welcome than tears to a hardened, willful visage? when life was wonderful was now

coda

wip. coda

this morning i was not feeling well but i got up just the same and chose tea instead of coffee to steam in a cup beside me while i wrote. i worked on the epilogue. i am reframing it: coda. i also changed the prologue to prelude. i did not simply choose these words because they are sweeter to the tongue. i chose them because i do see my novels, holistically, as musical compositions. they have rhythms and beats, high and low pitches, hooks and repetitions and refrains. life is like that, too.