A poem about yearning for the soul of the soul, for the collective that erases the one, for the wholeness of oneness within the collective, for Gd inside and out.
What I felt when I was asked to remove my hat.
Life has always been brutal and unfair, and we have always survived and even thrived. That won't change now.
i dont want to leave my bed/where things are/ soft and edgeless / like the ocean
I close my eyes so I can’t see
the small space that feels like
a coffin.
I am in a classical art gallery in London and the portraits all blur into a crowd of static, monotonous...
Is it even a leap of faith if you know you can’t help but land softly?
