blues of 20.20 twos

to the top of our lungs

the same songs we sing at the top

of the subway stairs

carrying our wares

carrying our cares


we pick ourselves up

the world goes around

like there’s no future

we let ourselves down


may we keep working

through the winters of self

may gratitude blossom so renewal can sprout 

from the roots into shoots


smokin reds

singing blues

the choices

we chose


need not be


the choices

we choose

#katyamills

instru.mental

all the popular songs

penned on club napkins by
wasted wannabe
troubadours
looking back
they say i just wrote 
whatever to dispel
the journalists
the craving
for deeper meaning
and they aren’t often lying
a song never needed
a lyric like a lyric
needed a song

song

the song of summer has ended
and we nest inside our city
apartments

these dawns thaw out long
after the sunrise. i cut most
my hair off and dive beneath

the complexities

i can smile waking up again. i
can find myself again
in the winter. i

can see my breath

singing

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.

song of words

a sunday morning begs me to create. i choose words. the creation of things may come less by tranquility than by chaos, equally informed by experience. the energy a song of words holds is generous and gives, if not selfless or attractive. we are naturally drawn to a sweet rhythm carried on a baseline. words have many meanings. our cultures are the context. I like most to let them free in the wilderness of a curious city