I close the door -
I like to do my reasoning alone
these thoughts of mine
devoted to traversing strung out low, along
the gut strings of unmelodious whispered endings.
Developed isolation, cared for like tender
Maybe I should consider the stillness
of the mocking birds,
low dormant for the night
but then these heels, are far too high for serious flight
- but that’s OK
the timeline is wrong.
Paradise is not always sea washed white beaches
and January, always such an outcast month
for making new friends...