The Purge

Through the mask
of the screen, device, closed eyes,
you are not a face
I have to care about
or know.

Only words that have offended
my beliefs. My values (character!) questioned,
as I stand scrolling on the bus
or lie in bed

you could be next to me
but your vitriol only
clashes mid-air with mine
fist first – like two villains –
as I hide
behind my rock
cheering (not knowing if you are too –
or if you’re weeping)
I’m right
I’m right
I’m right
I’m right
I’m right


Just fresh off the brainstorming page…coffee is for conversation, not “to go”.

I sat still today
a dangerous split
from all things unhealthy
Wondering what I would think about


My tongue tasted the emptiness
My eyes – at first skittish –
began to rest
stare even –┬áto the discomfort of those around me

like a gasping fish
long dry
soaking up an unrecognizable world
somehow familiar
painted in fuchsia.

And apart from the instant filters that flicker
in and through and over
What do I?
What do I
actually think?
The lack of voice inside my head is loud
acronyms expand
conversations wait for words
un-deleted and unannounced

A whole spontaneous world available
to make beautiful mistakes.