All The Words: January 2013

February 2, 2013 § 1 Comment

Love: always disproportionate

Death: three lines, three photographs, a hundred days, a lot of numbers.

Promises: Promised not to give any lately?

Death: likes numbers.

Love: can have a body or no body, and sometimes nobody.

Dream: am

Loss: the one gone won’t be there, and you fear that you’ve never been there for the one gone.

Snow: without class consciousness; egalitarian beauty maker.

Tenderness: to apply onto the deeper skin after we’ve peeled off our first; still pink and all thin and diaphanous.

Tension: holding back movement.

Age: too much life and not enough of it.

Death: after time.

Sleep: no time.

Sex: extra time.

Appreciation: true time.

Communication: direct, please.

Inspiration: that tab dripping in the middle of the night; you just want to shut it off but find yourself writing on the kitchen table.

Memories: equally adored and feared for being our future.

Snow: slow.

Experience: The fourth cheap cocktail glass.

Time: more, less, enough, never, always, again, gone.

Soul: What we leave behind at places for others to find when wandering alone. Sometimes we find it ourselves again too. And so on.

Friend: the one in the end.

Mensch: fits in one body.

Pain: what’s cheap to share and hard to wipe away.

Music: the red string connecting everything; Ariadne’s thread, Prometheus’ fire, our common mother’s womb.

Forgiveness: Remember the boy next door who threw your first bicycle into the village stream? He was in love with you all along.

Love: again.

Home: a picture of movement; us moving towards an embrace.


Dance: bodies translating.

Language: leaving the shore behind, going back into water.

Sleep: the invisible door to an empty room. We put down our luggage, next to the stairs. Upstairs, there are people talking.

Memory: has no bones and therefore can be formed with words into various shapes, then wrapped around a heart to kill or save.

Distance: invisible substance.

Absence: substantial distance.

Death: lines.

Fate: the game we play.

Recognition: hands touching the white marble, following the beat from inside, and shaping that figure.


Solitude: a myth of your inner voice.

Verse: pure thought ready to dance.

Poetry: pure thought caught out of guard.

Inspiration: a prayer, or a choir, or a dive.

Light: the idea of a tomorrow.

Home: this now.

You: the mirror I painted on your face.

Ambition: when everything faded away, except for this hope which kept you alive.

Sex: it’s all of you, without excuse.

Love: no matter what.

Despair: a moment like an implosion, when breath becomes solid like a stone, and then is thrown into the deepest well.


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