from_my_bed ovenbird One square of sugared leaves and shifting light, crumbling and sweet, like Scottish tablet on Burns night. Dappled afternoon on the ochre sheets. The hungry roar of the dredger. An abandoned coffee cup crusted with the cremains of my morning cocoa. Books with words that won’t resolve to sense. The fire forged face of a fearsome dragon, October bouncing off its mirrored eye. If it had a voice it would be yours. I imagine the way you would lend it your life and make me laugh with a wild foraged story, scented with pine and mud and morels. And I would close my eyes and find the freedom of sleep while you flipped the pages of our untold future. 261020 ... raze i see a staircase to the stars, and i ascend without moving a muscle to meet you where cygnus sings through lyra's rusted strings. 261020 what's it to you? who go blather from