Dried flowers
solitude
beer
haze
brown lace
body
a prayer
so as not to drown
in their hazel eyes
a void in me
anguish
fear
to be lost
in their hands
only to be left
behind
Statement
This poem came out of a series of exercises in a surrealist poetry workshop: paintings, collage, automatic writing. Somewhere in that process something more personal surfaced.
It’s a poem about the rituals we build to protect ourselves, and how sometimes we walk into the fire anyway. The knowing doesn’t make it easier. It just makes it more honest.