August 2011
2 posts
2 tags
Freight Train
Stay up late, watching the hours pass by through the thick lens of sleep. The computer glows against the dark shadows of the room. A song plays and replays, the whistle of a train passing through endless stations. Fall asleep, wake up, work, repeat. (I’m On Fire from Born In The U.S.A.)
My mother’s own Bruce Springsteen
3 tags
Rococo
The half moon glares down at us as you stand opposite to me on the small balcony. Below us the city is a ghost, dead in the depths of winter and night. The snow stopped a few hours after sunset. Our breath billows out in fleeting clouds which can only be seen if I squint, just so. Here, like this. It doesn’t matter. I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck, tuck it into my jacket. The...