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!