Brigitte.

Marie Jane

I breaded you just right
Tamed you in the right place 

Now that the windows over look each other
And the persona you are accustomed to
Is morphing 

Which reflection
Will you fade/fall 

Into 

Words

I throw myself to the new words
Instead of revising
The old ones 

All of them remain, over used

Lack there of.

Your curtain cover half the window

And my shirt is a little bit too white
to be able to compensate
for the lack of a bra 

And your glasses clearly cannot compensate
for your lack of subtlety 

At least half the window is covered. 

 

Home

Why does home seem so small
Would it be cliché
To add a reference to nyc right about now
And mention how
Cliché it is

p; marie jane 

 

 

Wax On Wooden Floors

Hunting words down,
Gasping for air
Faces older, and old. 

Empty new room
Full of
Thoughts of what it might become
Yearning for associations. 

I should just read a book. 

Playlists.

Being unproductive 
and cady for your ears.

waiting for stephanie naday to prepare us a little suprise, a playlist of wonders.
meanwhile enjoy, and waste your time searching just because its glorious, 
I promise I wont be more productive than you, I will just sit amongst my books on my floor and dream of brooklyn, pear in hot chocolate and crystals/fossils.

Williamsburg

He ashed his cigarette, 
on his pants.

 

p; marie jane

Boredom brings back memories, also known as nostalgia.

You played Satie
I am redundant 

It seemed familiar
But I had never payed attention 

You saw details
I saw sequences of actions 

You played satie,
But before, in your living room they were singing Bonnie and Clyde

And I have to admit I probably tried to recreate that,
a few times.  

Entre Deux.

Reality is old, words are scarce and profoundly inaccurate.

My books rest on the floor its chaos here.
Feel free to add your chaos to mine fore a while.

seeking for something new, refreshing,
similar to snow,
a need to disconnect myself.