Raindrops race down cafe windows like playful schoolchildren,

the street beyond fading to a watercolor of blues and greys,

headlights twinkling like stars through the watery veil.

The woman at the counter buys tea that smells of distant memories,

forgotten chess games and a crackling fire.

She pays in exact change, with ancient dollar bills and new pennies,

the coins reflecting copper crescents upon the ceiling as they spin.

Porcelain mugs clink against one another,

their rhythm an ode to someplace else.

And outside this place-

one that exists just outside of time’s trembling grasp-

the rain pours down.

Stars pepper the sky. A solitary lamppost reaches up towards them. It’s a doomed endeavour, for an incandescent bulb is weak, its filament will burn out, the electrons tire. But for now, in the early hours of this Tuesday morning, this lamppost’s light reaches. Up towards the sky.

The lamppost stands on an empty quay. The wind blows against the river, cold and dusty, and the water laps beneath. If anyone were here, they might see the city lights reflected in its ripples. But there is no one here, and the wind moves and the water laps and the light reaches and glistens. The vastness of the dark velvet sky, blurring into black, echoes out the emptiness. It is a lonely time, this two-three-four, but pregnant with possibility. For seeds need space to grow. For music needs silence to matter. For it’s time, not joy, at the heart of growth.

So, here, the in between time, in the space where no one goes, and the ever hopeful, expectant and disappointed lamppost. Here, this empty quay, in time, will watch the sun rise, the water glow pink and gold, and the people come, big and small.

Have you ever been inside a soundproof room?

Then you know that silence has a sound...

a still sound,

a beating heart that doesn't beat,

the ecstatic heartache of everything holding everything together.

The way I feel is the opposite of that.

There should be sound everywhere,

so why is it silent?

I’m on a train bound for an

unknown destination

all I know is

this train isn’t stopping

anytime soon

It’s a cross-country journey

I glimpse something

different

every time I look

out the window

That is,

when I can see anything

Most often

my view is shrouded

by the murky haze

of a long

long

long

dark

tunnel

Blips of color,

snatches of luminous light

flash by as

the train takes its course

moving aboveground

in precious bursts

I’d stop and

look around for a while

if I could,

take a breath of warmth

unfortunately

the cold reality is

I don’t have access

to the brakes

I wonder what life

would be like if

my pathway

never left

the light

its raining outside

the patter of the water droplets

hit the roof, the sweet sound

of autumn welcoming our city.

im sitting on my living room floor,

right next to the fire place

the lighting is dim, the main source

coming from the flames in front

of me. the room smells of apple cinnimon

as i refuse to purchase any other

candle scent.

when i look out of the window,

the sky is a soft gray

she isnt mad

she is simply expressing herself

by crying about how harsh

the summer had been to her.

the raindrops on the window

race eachother

as if who ever reached the window

pane first would be deamed

the winner. i mentally bet on each

raindrop i focused on.

i let my breathe fog the window

my cold finger draws a sad face

but i dont want it to be lonely

like its creator

so i add a happy face close by.

the sun begins her goodbye

promising the moon would replace her

to keep me company.

an empty suburban playground

the mulch a dusty light brown

bleached by the harsh sun

in fact, everything looks like that

the once vibrant greens and reds

of the slide and swings

are washed away, faded and sickly light

the monky bars are missing two or three bars

the jungle gym is a safety hazard

the swings creek ominously loud,

their foundations shifting with every back and forth

the toys buried deep in the mulch

have long since been replaced and forgotten

the slide has adolescent vandalism

carved into its hard plastic skin

initials in hearts, together forever, harshly crossed out

the grass surrounding the playground

is dead and dry and not grass at all;

they're weeds

an old man used to sit on the rickety bench

he died on that bench

and because no one goes to that ugly dried-out playground

the stench of his body rotting in the angry sun

will remain their forever

the park, once bright and full of life

housed many cookouts and block parties

but now, it is barren

empty and uncomfortably warm

there is no shade in this playground

no trees agreed to grow there

so everything under the sun

burns burns burns

Roaming around,

Figuring out her area.

Constantly thinking about fate.

Stopping and then catching

A decent pace.

Unbeknownst that she's only

Causing hurt

While her abode was never

Inside the body.

She was always the foul gas,

Simply taking unnecessary place.

×∞ Adin

29 November 2020

Overlooking an icy stream, trees stand proud with their resilience and greenery on display. Everything here is built to withstand the cold, from the natural to the man made. Built up icicles holding strong to the coves and cliffs appear so fragile, but the truth is their delicate forms have been reinforced over time through the wind and precipitation.

The massive walls surrounding the stream are gradually eroding away and reveal new characteristics throughout the years. From the sky receiving nourishment, and from the earth inspiration, the growth only improves. While imperfect and rugged, there are no mistakes here.

an iced over lake

the frozen surface an island

unto itself

my breath stuck in place

like so many waves

a salute to the freezing shoreline

stuck in one subtle motion

inferior to the passing

of birds

their continuous movements homeward

their resolve to go somewhere better

my body aches

my disease contorting

my face

my wish for somewhere warmer

as aggressive as my fever

the sickness of the century

causes my legs to seize

i don't know who

did this to me