steam

as I leant into a cup of tea

hit my forehead like

a blunt heavy kiss

like a coarse and hot as a

blessing I felt

it my elder

myself born myself young, I felt

like a kitten blind

under cats

tongue.

​

What is the thing now if not

remaking

what we forgot?

Everything is old I guess.

Words like honour, praise and bless

used to seem like pompous

aliens, now I find them in my womb

In my heart

when pressure leaves my struggle

with sincerity.

​

Clear,

runs water that is good to drink-

clear is air thats good to breathe.

​

But

​

fucking hell, there are so many stones.

Fucking hell, there are so many stones.

If I dont turn over each one,

how will I know, how will I know?

How will I know about love and work,

how will I know about newts and toads?

​

Clear runs water that is good to drink,

but fucking hell, there are so many stones.

​

The riverbeds stones are like

scales of snake.

The riverbed

bleeds when I pick its scabs.

I pick them until I'm compelled no more,

til I'm alone, and drawn to dive

into the cold, where

I am freed

of the ghost company I need.

​

Freed of this starved things deranged greed,

Here it is cold and moving fast.

Everything warm is whipped away.

I try to be so good, im seen

not by the cold,

So it might let me stay.

I wish to it that I could stay.

Why must I mess around with air?

Why must I mess around with fire?

Water is all I'll ever need.

Water I wish that I could bleed

into you til my blood is turned

into water, and nothing yearned

for any longer,

nobodies daughter.

​

-So Many Stones