Marbles in my mouth, they clatter, tumble,
Soften their edges on my teeth
Spill over like a million bubbles of truth.
Pour from my pen as honeybees in summer:
Burbling and busily exploring.

Sept 22/17



The Inuit have a hundred words for snow and I
have a hundred more for you.

They spill from my fingers, unchecked and protected by
distance and fibre optics.

Your name is a grape in my mouth, sweet and full and juicy
should I bite.

We are but a moment’s flickering hope draped in stardust
and snow.

kdw Sept 11/17 (unedited)


Wear your body like a cloak of many colours and none. Paint your face or strip your hair, poke holes in your skin and all it does is tear yourself into a million scattered pieces of a never written love letter Papier-mâché mask for the world. They ‘like’ your profile and ‘favourite’ your bust for their own base interest but never your mind your spark your humour your giving and bleeding heart. Never your midnight milky way auroras. Keep hoping someone will show up, step in, step up, and stay. Meet you halfway. Touch the cracks in your walls and learn them like the ancient map written in a dialect only discernible by they.

k.d.w., June 2017