muting is not knowing

orange light reflected off virgin snow. orange here is not the same as orange there desert lines drawn in sand erased by a gust the wind blew.

tonight is a night to be held. to be rushed to, scooped up. my romance, my vulnerability, is bathed in orange. fire or sodium, dust or snow, you choose.

tonight is for silent cab rides, for glass between self and other.

shift into neutral before you brake.

the driver doesn’t speak, i like to imagine he senses my need. take the long route please, i ask. the radio is off.

he takes turns i wouldn’t have chosen. two options – remain in reverie, or direct this brother through meandering routes that reflect my mental. i can’t afford the latter, so former default. less than ten dollars with which to indulge.

snowflakes fall so gently they feel like death imagined this new morbid obsession equated with reset. i’m a super soul sure shot. i’m a national breakout.

it’s all so so so so so silent. still. the only thing that moves on these streets is this car that smells like newness. this man that suppresses coughs. i like to imagine that he knows. that i’m not difficult. that this stranger knew me saw me. that i’m not difficult.

the blank canvas of strangers facilitates projection. blank canvas allows me to re-interpret actions as centred on this particular self.

leurs corps comme toile

seven days into newness. not two more until leftright updown get placed in a blender. vulnerability levels at orange like the lamps like the reflection like the snow that is white that is orange.

baby, be beside me.

like snowflakes on eyelashes, icicled i scream, i need to melt


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