photo: kate sweeney


I hear the body alone working;

it is a shovel breaking ice, snow.

Shoveling sidewalk as I sit and type.

and then it is the sides of me. There is a width around I feel.



the beat of heart.

the swing of shovel.

the light of day that fades all the time.

things are always changing i said.

“no they’re not” she said.

i am overwhelmed by something…

it is my senses.

i am overwhelmed with experience.

the time it is so fast.

the teach me, the lets do, the what is that the start of?

break each one down all the way.

Time is our experience of it.

i grasp and peel

pouring up from breaking down.

i look around and know i do not like you. i do not like me.

i acknowledge that this is ok.

It’s okay that I do not like.

And I can let go.


There is something hot in the cool of my perception – in the cool of my persona.

I am an imposter.

I am time.

I seem like existence, seem like experience, seem like emotion, seem like memory. But really, I am just time and they are not my feelings anyway.

It is not my dislike.

It is not my aggression.

It is not my ecstasy.

I am simply time. I have none of these.

It is only my perception. I’m an imposter.

I’m just: in time.

thank you to my partner ‘init’ (fire), biag gaongen