After weeks of just watching Korean horror movies I decided to watch an indie American one and literally in the first five minutes a woman was raped...
We built trenches of snow to leave you in,
no white flags waved as we rushed home
under the watchful eye of the northern eyes;
I don’t miss my job. I vaguely liked the atmosphere because I dealt with local people, the true ones. Farmers, fishermen, construction workers,...
They say this world is turning,
but I’m the one waxing and waning between two constants;
wandering a road of shattered ice
across oceans that tear me apart.
Time calcified rests by the edge of the water,
everything is still, but the memory of our ancestors
circumnavigating the planet in a struileag made of broken tongues;
our languages offered to Styx at dusk.
Walking by the sea,
I root myself in the cold sand of the cladach
but the tide empties the machair,
and covers the starry sky in battered grey,
each grain of salt etching the echo of your stolen voice
like whiplashes across my back.