consistent metaphor

The ice is thin, but I am light

just enough to glide on it, twirling

giddy, over-the-top sliding

“Having fun?” they ask from the well-lit sidelines

I am. For now I can spin

just waiting for that incredible plunge

that sudden second of insecurity

which pulls me


to be lost again, always drowning,

fists dull-thump pounding up

trapped beneath.

giving all you have

the tryst of trust: Are We?

– and quell, the shivering wrinkles

betray overuse, overthought, overanalyzed

Fear and weakness synonymous,

the lack of context relative to frame of reference.

double-helix doubled over on itself. Infinity sign.

Eight fell over, twisted circle

a tension of mind questioned together.

(we beg the question and do not answer)

a quiet cycle.

on the way home

we slide, ghosting

over the iceandsnow, flying

jousting with the car coming towards us

in a second, shattered

poetic justice in my stomach, I blossom

red and purple, green-yellow

am I frozen forever? limp in the snow?

red spread from the head to freeze solid,

they’ll have to un-bury me, digging back the piles of white

scrape me off the tar, eyes staring.

But I’m open, the smoke is hissing and children are screaming

I’m okay, I’m okay,

I’ll call nine-one-one and get us the hell out of here

pull you out, are you okay? our lives just flashed before our eyes,

did you like what you saw?

your blood is rushing too fast, it will freeze in the snow.

later than it should be

we’ll look back on this and say

it was apparent from the beginning, reframing perspective

but believe me I

know nothing of myself.

Bitterly afraid of choice,

we laugh at nonchalance –

always that sweet sorrow:

is this the last time? will I lose you

by accident, you slip away into a snowbank,

fall back, eyes glazed, swiftly buried

and I forget again

not because I don’t love you,

but because I cannot hold this hurt.

Sufjan Stevens (song of the week)


In light of all these brazen holiday jingles, it’s wonderful to calm it down with a cool, wintry number by the ever-beautiful Sufjan. I saw him live last year and it was the best show I have ever been to. He went through his Christmas album – an unbelievable arrangement of classics and originals, all with the insane Sufjan flair. After playing through a set of wild, crazy, colourful songs with streamers, glitter, and confetti raining down on the crowd, he stepped out alone on the stage in a tshirt and jeans with his banjo and quietly launched into his most famous work: his humble, beautiful, sweet songs. (It was there that I fell in love with Sister Winter, with tears pouring down my face in the dark.)

If you are not already a fan of his lovely work as you should be, I suggest taking some time to listen and appreciate this poetic and musical genius. The Stevens essentials: John Wayne Gacy, Jr.; Casimir Pulaski Day; For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti; Holland. There are so many others which are amazing, and there are so many more which are undeniably weird in Sufjan’s quirky-odd style.


Anyways. Happy Wintertime.

├ôlafur Arnalds (song of the week)

Exquisite. One of my favourite composers. Take just five minutes to still yourself and soak in this song, in its simplicity. Dwell on it. Contemplate it. Stop yourself from switching tabs or checking your phone again, just settle and be quiet in this piece of artwork. Notice the details of the girl’s hair and eyes, the color of the flowers, the light on her hand. Focus on the beauty, let yourself encounter the sublime.


repeated dream:

you and i push off in a little boat, laughing

breaking the filmy layer of ice

using our oars to guide us around the frozen chunks.

Every time, we begin to sink

the boat tilts, spilling us

I crash into the waters, which break

and I fall into the river of home.

It is warm, and my eyes open

emerging from the gloomy depths,

weathering crocodiles,

I gasp onto shore,

a rocky bank breaking the rapids.

You are gone, and I know where to go from here.

I tear my clothes from my skin and fly into the waves, carried

on a current I understand.

something new.

Dear Anna,

I keep saying to everyone how much I miss you,

but it isn’t direct enough, I want to scream it out since you aren’t here

and that’s what is on my mind.

Today, I walked out into the frigid air and tossed my head back the way you always do,

arms out, just experiencing exactly where you are to the fullest you possibly can.

Snowflakes tumbled all over me, my

eyelashes were covered in little fluffy flakes.

If you had been there, you would have

understood how weird all this is, that

something as little as snowflakes in eyelashes is

totally new and foreign, overwhelmingly strange.

Someone sang a song we’ve sung countless times in the kitchen,

I carried the harmony without even thinking, half-expecting

your mellow tones to spring up out of the air and croon out the melody

in that dusky, raw voice of yours.

We’re older, yes, we’re growing, things are changing,

but that doesn’t change the fact

that no one asks me what I dreamed about

when I wake up.