bathe my conciousness
with your milky hands
wash away the dirt
that clings to my skin
magnetically charged
and always already corrupting
the innocence I want to maintain
bathe my mind
with your milky hands
so that I might take
an unadulterated breath
plunge your milky hands
deeper into my mind
grasping at the roots
of the ideas that suck the nutrients
from the bowels of my heart
just to scream at the moment belatedly
pluck at the roots
that stem and branch out infinitely
in every direction without course
plunge you milk hands
ever deeper into my mind
and extract my soul
Postscriptum, or Where do we go from here?
When the days bleed into each other, when morning and afternoon and evening is the only discernable differences, when the day seems to repeat itself infinitely, then things will probably settle down soon. At the moment, though, everything feels like a repeat of yesterday. I sit and work, repeat. That is all. But one of my articles (which I began writing on Hive!) will be published soon. So it did pay off after all. Small victories.
I hope that you are doing well in our chaotic world.
All of the writings and poems are my own. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300.
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