in one of those mornings dripping

light peaks

in through curtains that glide to my mood

swings and primroses are hissing like cats

the pouring of congealed thoughts gets interrupted

by noise of voids

but it’s poised to begin again and again

through lifetimes

I can almost have the wind

then it’s also perfectly okay that

I don’t recognize my face

on which every eyelash is destined

the sort through these frames

a precarious canine smile enduring

long after I perish

like flipping through humanity’s album

then maybe stopping wouldn’t be such a

bad idea — would be white space

the mornings are also nights dangling

the moon I write about — bottom of a glass

through which I look and hear

the whispers of the sun in another galaxy

Author Bio: Writing gives me a scalpel-like precision to dig out otherwise buried thoughts, a stage to sound out otherwise inexpressible thoughts. Among the vastness of writing’s universe, I find poetry in particularly to be the most fitting medium for thoughts, feelings and ideas that are unusual and absurd and strange, nonetheless, that which hold so much weight and materiality. With poetry, I can be precise but indirect, my ruminations concrete but abstract. I also post (now sporadically) my admittedly mediocre writing on my Insta @written.k ; I’m still very much learning and growing as a writer, and would appreciate immensely if we could connect on there!