You can't hold it too tight

These matters of security

You don't have to be wound so tight

Smoking on the balcony

-Pace is the Trick, Interpol

You can’t hold it too tight

For fear of causing a squeal as the last puff of life flurries about, frantic to flicker, free again.

Theses matters of security

That twist around me

Tangled and tight, pulling all breath

And desire to be.

You don’t have to be ...

One crisp autumn morning I woke up and vaguely remembered how much I needed to forget the past year of my life, to finally do something with the restless energy that had been building inside me, making me wobble between burning it all down and continuing to live another year exactly the same, showing up, doing the things expected of me, monotonously weaving around in my daily life, only to be deep...