I feel like I grow old in my stillness, like it was a creeping death. A candle burning my fingers as I cook my foods over piano keys. I listen to the creek of wood and wind as the world sleeps and I answer each time with a brush of paint. Give joy into the light but dance in the darkness.
No other holds hands in a marry go roundabout.
make patches of me and attach them to the ceiling of dreamers and lovers.
Lego bits of blue, yellow and red. Build up the sky and read typos to midnight babies of invention. Feeling the wind glide over you and your resting eyes.
long is the light of the sleepers.
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I fear a little bit developing film because it is the last bit of chaos I’m giving over control to a stranger with. I love the madness of just doing for my self in time.
