sometimes there's just no escape.

sometimes it just fires your nerves, like unexpected cold fingertips, all too tender.

sometimes you climb through new windows, only to find yourself falling back to earthy familiarities, tempted by its dark comfort, its velvet embrace, its green scent.

sometimes sights and sounds send your head reeling, like a spliced film scattered in pieces on the editing floor. yet you find this collection of shards being slowly pieced back together. stealthily, with a dim light overhead, careful work in silence.

twinned with extra plates

sometimes you cannot bear the truth which knocks incessantly at your door. you somehow convince yourself that the seductive pleasure of putting your eye to the peephole is worth the blinding nights of melancholy and bitterness [blinking back blood-red].

sometimes you find yourself with egg on your face, yolk adrip.

sometimes the grey in the sky invites you to a dialogue. brooding clouds, heavy with meaning; tea for two, honey stirrer poking into the heavens above. i nod in response, pulling my coat closer.

sometimes home is elsewhere.