London. past life

the london fog made us
less visible and i liked it

sort of 

like the end of 

a past life

an organ was crashing

voices whispering 

will you wish to stay on earth? 

tell us

tell us

i had no fear

and yet 

because of the fog

i could not then

speak

#katyamills

Journal # 03.02.15

I wish I will live in self-forgotten. For now I look into the fog. Then turn on the space heater. My kittens all curled up in different rooms. They need the heat more than I do. One is topping a wicker basket of clothes. Another is curled upon the bed. The third, the lone wolf, on the belly of the armchair in my kitchen. I sit at my desk and wonder how life got its limits, so endless the moment it seems. I dare not look into the future. When all my kittens are gone. When perhaps I am here, at this same desk, with new kittens. Traitor! With new poems on my tongue. New paperbacks to my name. Ebooks on kindle. Traitor! I have forgiven myself already. For life trudging on. Forgive myself, towards self-forgotten. And once I forget myself complete? It will be left for someone else to remember who I was.

coloring

Blues ran into yellows in the rain, and burst green upon the scene. The olive drab of soldiers bobbed up and down. Prayers drifted in purple-lined clouds above them, holding fear condensate.

Someone smoked a rolly with their arms hanging over a molasses colored wall of old earth. A child was watching cartoons on a clean carpeted floor. His auntie with auburn up-do, was dusting down the bookshelves to the sound of looney tune orchestra, rain and marching boots.

She could see the back.of the man hanging over the molasses wall, and the nuanced transparencies of smoke exhalations, fog and breath. The sun might not peek out today, she thought, but no matter. An extraordinary day to be alive.

Blues ran into yellows in the rain, and burst green upon the scene.