Brutalism under a coat of dense texture. Sea of glass and concrete, with waves that froze in a thousand little ice cubes. The city — Minutes under pressure. Litres above the head. Restless eyes with no space to run. The horizon that sits too close. The Sea — Is not here. Yet visible everywhere — where It is not.
Notes / journal / diary / blog
To keep all this somewhere. This part of the page is for me – it helps me organise some poems, some “to-use-later” things, and some threads that keep my processor busy – but feel free to browse. If you like it, fantastic. Maybe we can discuss some things. And if you don’t like what’s here, nobody forces you to keep reading.
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The wind circled him. And he let it. It tugged at his clothes, lifted his hair, pressed against his chest. And then — it eased. The gusts softened. The sand settled. The sea grew still.
How the brain works never ceases to surprise me.
A message from a journalist. Watching videos of corpses. A feeling of uselessness — meaninglessness — settling over everything I do, paired with a clear awareness that I can’t do much. A wish to make a difference, a small one, any difference at all, hitting a wall. The lungs refuse to cooperate when the brain tries to make sense of it. An abrupt jump from rest to restlessness, circling the room(…)
The stars of the sky of flies are dust on dirty glass.
Gwiazdy nieba much to kurz na brudnym szkle.
May Bees
Maybe – May be. Why do I like this word so much. May be maybe, maybe May be. May be, maybe May be. Perhaps just doesn’t dance like this. Maybe in May. Be it as it may in May; a bay for you and me. Maybe, Bay Bee.
5 x Słońce / Stoner Polski
(five poems published in Stoner Polski, Poland) słoneczko mówią że zawsze masz uśmiech na buzi i chociaż patrzysz z góry to ciepłem każdego witasz włosy kręcisz w piękne esy na styl lwiej grzywy że bez ciebie – to nic a i tak wszystkich razisz nikt ci w oczy nie spojrzy królowo z borderlajnem piękności z etatem w przedszkolu wszyscy wiedzą że lubisz boleśnie poparzyć albo zniknąć z całym złotem kradzionym na głupoty na podróż — dokąd kręcisz się w kółko stronnicza błyskotko żujesz nerwowo gumę z orbit jakbyś wiedziała że też zaraz zgaśniesz