eye moved on, i kept dreaming
2026-08-25
nowadays a title emerges before the writing
the remember me button, mark of cain,
i don't remember my past, i dream it
every night, occurrences reoccurring,
for a moment, past becoming present,
the residue becoming golden.
my hair, if sun wouldn't left, i know it would too
cause it gets there, as sun kisses it
but it leaves, like many things
i wonder, how do i sound? does it traverse from belly up?
how do i sound to myself? blood always bleeds red,
orange met blue, then it became brown
then for a while eye saw nothing, i asked for nothing
what i needed wasn't down here, or up there
all i needed was the absence of the thing i required
to show it i was ready to acquire
what it'd give, in a breath,
it did, it was green.
how do you want to read?
poems can unravel themselves as you read, line by line, at a considered pace — or just sit there, fully visible, like normal.
change this anytime — look for “reading: …” near the top of any poem.