pi & anne

I’ve got issues with my stomach. Too much coffee, too many sweets. But I know that’s only half the truth.

lies I’ve been feeding myself the middle finger

There are hardly any squirrels left in the neighbourhood: they’ve moved in, inside me, and my succulents have dry leaves.

They tell me no coffee, no alcohol, no sweets, nothing sparkling. I’m trying really hard: I only have a coffee now once in a while, every few days. But I have sugar cravings, which I sometimes give in to. I’d love to curl up in a ball, but my back hurts sometimes. They say don’t let everything get to you. Everything gets to me so easily.

my old friend      bags and bags and bags

The rubbish collectors make a hell of a racket in our street. I scribble tanka after tanka and word vomits and chat about the same thing every day to get rid of it, but it’s tenacious like the old grease in the pan next to the sink, tenacious like birdsong when I open the window at 5am.

Outside our kitchen window,
I hear a nameless, aggravating bird
I can’t see—
– ‘ – –
Make it stop.

I walk from one
to the next cloud shadow
breathing in box shape

it’s just a phase under a true blue moon               next