Day 9 of #the100dayproject

Late night walk

I walk through the snow
and sit down on a bench,
watch the snowflakes
illuminated by street lamps,
falling like feathers
tossed from a pillow.

Day 8 of #the100dayproject

Winter

Snowflakes fall on the city;
powerlines, buildings, cars
and roads paved white, smooth.
Beautiful. And the homeless are cold.
The homeless have nowhere to go.

Day 8 & 9 on hold

 Hey all,

I have not been well and will be catching up when I feel better!

With love,

Britt

Day 7 of #the100dayproject

ingesting the fragments of creatures

I eat flies everyday,
milk and black, their wings
a textured cereal, their legs
the bran, whole wheat.
From my tongue, I can tell
where they lay their young,
where they fly from one
rat infested gutter
to the garbage heaped
outside the front gate.
I guard my mouth
as I guard my body,
but thousands of legs
and wings ingested,
a war field of body parts
shimmering in bags
of rice and flour,
the many eye balls
of sweltering insects.
No matter how hard
I try, I eat the world
and the debris
of its creatures;
I lick my lips, wash
their brine and death
down with wine.

Day 6 of #the100dayproject

 

Day 5 of #the100dayproject

 

Day 4 of #the100dayproject

To Debate a Memory

I was in the field, then I wasn’t in the field
I was in the moss, under the cedar, but
It wasn’t a cedar, but a redwood and
I wasn’t wearing mary-janes, but always
In my mind, I’m wearing mary-janes.
I probably was barefoot, but I cannot
Say for sure. I was there, my skin pale
Against the wet green of the trees,
I was there, but maybe I wasn’t.
Maybe it was a dream, multifaceted.
Reoccurring, maybe I walked there, but
I was naked and it was not daylight
Maybe there was the moon silvering
The dew on the grass blades.
I know I was me, I know I had a body
But I do not know my age, I look back
And my body is like water, flowing
Changing, I am never the same,
And the me that was in the field,
Or in the moss, was that me or
Was that another version of me?
Maybe all this time I am someone
But not myself, only in the present
I am me, but in the past, the person
That was me is not me, only pieces
Of a body and a mind that if put together
Might look like me, but isn’t really me.