Welcome to Woodsy’s poetic place
It’s like acid,touching these things, really it is. It’s like an acid… like the melting of someonewho wasnever quite me… someonewho somehownever quite could be. It’s like the melting of somethingtoo soft to liveanywhere but here… in a facethat nobody quite knowswell enough totouch. It’s like the weeping of somethingtoo soft to reveal itselfin anything… Read more
So many lightsare dying tonight…like a lighthouse ballet,too deep behind my heartto ever catch sight of my eyes. They sing the silence,shiver the stillness,weave the air –little mischief-makers everywhere. Yesterday’s plumageand backpacks…yesterday’s bus stations…yesterday’s walk…weary now in boarded doorways…waiting for phantoms who used to live there – little mischief-makers everywhere. They have no lights to… Read more
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