felt

damp paper

watch the margins bleed

ink from pen absorbs hastily

soaking in pigments from all directions

the paper rises like tiny sand dunes

 

felt-like and telling

 

salt tears

materialised fears in blue ovals, dotted i and crossed t

the page consumes and bares dappled wounds

 

 

 

inconsistant

without brother
two sisters
two mothers
once two fathers
but now, one

without sun
without bedroom
multiple cities
walls and accents
always
gravitate towards the north
this island, so miniature
though, not humble
sure, I stumble with my heavy rucksack
I pack a few pieces of fabric
to warm my long limbs

a few pieces of paper
bound on the left side
hoping they accept my melanchonic ink