Every morning I wake up
and wrap myself in layers
I carry them around
feeling false and heavy.
...
Today in art class
we cut upon tea bags
and emptied the brown powder
into the bin
...
Your paintbrush dancing across the canvas
Recreating dark shadows and blurred anger
...
January Morning
I observed
By the window
An old hard wooden chair
Looking out
White oblivion
Falling flagging failing
Spiralling cartwheeling dizzily falling
each snowflake is unique You whispered with reverence as if letting me in on a secret
if you listen carefully you can hear each fall from the clouds rubbed against the sky
I heard nothing