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rhyllpart of my evening's procrastination was going through my collage/origami supplies and organising them. among the bits of paper i found one with this typed on it:
"icypole summers aren't always pastel.
tongues on sunburn would be an entirely different colour. pink is not adequate.
wanting water. picturing a lake a sea a bathtub. one foot in the water. floating. my body is different in the heat. strange expansions. some days i feel eroded.
melting and burning. the old cliches of fire.
'i don't melt so fast anymore'."
sometimes i wonder about me, and words.
"icypole summers aren't always pastel.
tongues on sunburn would be an entirely different colour. pink is not adequate.
wanting water. picturing a lake a sea a bathtub. one foot in the water. floating. my body is different in the heat. strange expansions. some days i feel eroded.
melting and burning. the old cliches of fire.
'i don't melt so fast anymore'."
sometimes i wonder about me, and words.
