[if you've ever had a psychotic-ex girlfriend]
it may or may not have looked a lot like me.

i have been wavering. these days. like heat lines on asphalt on long stretches of roads to not very interesting places. and then something comes. a phone call. a stiff drink. a new creamy jumper. and all that time hovering on edges resolves itself. there's so much less to worry about walking edges with you within reach. and there are so many days, now. where i don't fall down.

at all.

i've been writing you a letter. about skin and bones. the internet. sometimes it begins, yesterday i saw a black bird in the park eating worms. and sometimes, it doesn't. these days it takes everything i've got not to burn down your house. rise up from these bed sheets in the morning to screaming. instead i fold paper hearts into paper birds. and other things with wings. sail them out our old-bedroom window. until collections of them. like memories of me and you. drop there on the almost-summer concrete below. false falling snow.

more letters
the train my hat this morning calls

reclaiming imogen has a piece featured today on indieink.org

some days, i don't know what kind of life i'm living. this sunshine. the path to work, mornings. strewn with shadows to chase. and me. moving steady forward. this isn't the way i might have thought things would turn out. the slow stretch toward the end of things. the lack of chaos replaced with water bills and ordered lists. laundry. and me. totally out of words.