and gone as the pen comes out what word might have soothed this scrap of paper holding on to the last light of the week & summer almost over & our throats sore from shouting over the endless waves of strangers exploring the shading of the short video format in the pauses between what the deadline wants of you & again into the kitchen with tea made from scraps of memories of all those birthdays with the one whose name you won’t say


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: