ich bin's.

words in every language are eluding me. i have everything and nothing to say.

hallo, ich bin's.

i like the way the words flow here. the cadences of yr phrases stretching longer and plunging into each other faster than i could possibly follow.

a lamp hanging from the ceiling ringed with green plastic bottles. wide open spaces. faltering leaves.

sometimes i walk my feet up the wall beside my bed. sometimes i just scribble notes while i listen to you breathe. i can't remember what day it is. i invent and invite these attractions. fucking nervous kneecaps.

(& last night how i walked in and out again so quickly, biting my lip, pedaling downhill fast and away through my own inner pummeling. sometimes crowds are just too much to handle. sometimes tables of friendly unknown faces are the hardest thing i know. i wish anyone here was ready to skip along with me into all these nighttime diversions. i wish all the americans weren't so standoffish, so polite. sometimes i pretend to bite my long thumbnails but really it's all just an act.)

i'm trying to remember i've got more to offer than eyes and hair and endless skin beneath clothes. hungry mouths and tumbling limbs. just to remember how.

and i see solitary girls in cafes with pads of paper and pencils, that half-glazed writers' stare. endless glasses of water and furrowed brows. ready for inspiration.