i feel beautiful and sad and stunning and completely unloved.
as if running after the hare and every step makes it harder to keep up
and the other dogs are disappearing over the hillside.
my hand is bruised and bleeding and swollen and i can't write
if i can't write i can't live.
thus fulfilling the criteria as given by rainer maria rilke
in my dreams i can only run like an animal. on two legs it feels like running through treacle but on all fours i'm like a big cat and streak across land faster than light.
what that means i don't know
read the poem 'always' by brian bartlett
this week i am supposed to write a poem inspired by that one by about west leeds
i'll post it up soon, it's about caterpillars and pensions and mcdonalds.
the mentor at the residency gives us good things to read: etgar keret, rilke, martin stannard.
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