In sympathetic insomnia

when slippers - plastic and made for hygienic purposes - are heard slip, slap, slapping along the linoleum corridors in the I am a.m.'s of the day, before the sun rises, before those other I am a.m.'s of wakefulness, they bear textbooks heavy and anxious limbs to corners with humming air, running motors and ticking clocks that in their quiet symphony dance like dervishes - exam time

fearful love

waiting for you

I message

someone else

Ross Clark

Fragments

Fragments can be fragments, of glass, then shards, of wood, then splinters, of hearts, then grief, of self, then dissolution.

But fragments can be made be blunt, placed in a box lined with velvet and nourished back to context.  

Sometimes fragments, in all their discontinuity, are all we can have and hope for, and that is the way it has to be.

using other peoples words to be angry at you

I have your words, that you put down on paper,

but nothing at hand to return, so I write down

papaya. I cut one open: so many

dark points, so many undefined things.

Leung Ping-kwan (Ye si)