syberea

goddamn! hot syrupy moments like molasses in the south, heating up and moving so slow. like watching honey drip on skin, you are left to bite your lips and wait. i feel like there is a jungle growing slowly around me. full of heat and rain and things like that. things that are mysterious even when you are looking at them close up. i like this feeling of dark velvety mystery that i feel in the air. i want to live in it and breath it and eat it for breakfast and take it to bed.

i am about to live in a house that looks like it should be inhabited by wild poets, hidden among trees and vines and oh so still. it in fact used to be. a wild poet who used to drink and write and swear. see the world through his own eyes, make tiny word pictures that everyone could see canada through. i will be steeped in history and inspiration. i look forward to my dreams there.