love

loss

labour

language

jazz...

there is always that one note or that one particular phrasing that shuts me down outside and I exist only on the in where liquid swirls me around and around I turn inside so much that it can cause pain both physical and not and inside such an opening it is possible to glimpse the purity that is experience and perhaps a truth or two felt in the satin sheets of pain where blood runs clear through the eyes and heartbeats count out moments of life touched once and twice in a while though I can never remember not being in a while or rather out of a while as I cannot think of what a while could be though be it must as it exists here for us to share and we sip at the tears that we have poured for ourselves in the cup we find once in a while.

PEACE - Tristan