Crash
In what seems to be a perpetual tail-spin
Everything is reeling by in a distorted version of slow motion.
Impact after impact, every gnarled branch cuts into bruised flesh
Every windshield shatters violently against beautiful faces
Wheels turning
Acrid smoke
Guttural pleas
Something wretchedly redundant
Like a fucking Rihanna song
Shines bright like a diamond
In an infernal, infinite repetition
Blind momentum
Is far less frightening
Than
Impending
Inertia.
I run screaming from “impending inertia” xo, Jayne
You and me both!!! I am missing you Jayne!
Bisous,
Dawn
There is a Snow Patrol song that goes:
“For once I want to be the car crash
Not always just the traffic jam”
Reminded me.
like
I need to write to you my Théo.
Bisous,
Dawn
Sometimes it is very hard to “like” your poetry.
Être sécure, ma cherie. Être sécure.
You are right. I don’t really like it much either sometimes but it feels so much better to get it out of me. (yeah, I’m a selfish pig….)
Bisous,
Dawn
Better out than in.
(Obviously I’m not referring to cock.)
That is better in. (out, in, out….)