It might seem a little odd posting a love poem to writing at night the day after talking about a change that will get me to bed earlier, but I’ve never claimed consistency as a hallmark of this blog.
So there you have it. No refunds, no exchanges.
oblation the night has always spoken to me: in whispers or screams. in the jagged growl of motorcycles or blare of drunken car horns in the cries of lovers & lovers crying in beds alone in the torment of police sirens or serenity of crickets the words come easier, more gentle & graceful then - come to console or conjure new dreams, fulfill nightmares, or share prophecy this time, these moments, these breaths - my sacred altar, & me, the sacrifice.