journal

this place shelters (un)sheltered bodies

I shamelessly carry my nakedness around as if my skin savors under heavy woolen coats

Yes, but what choice do I have, what choice do any of us have?

is it not here that one must seek cover

to brush off the unfriendliness of its fast changing weather?

cover, my dear

there is a no resting place elsewhere 

A stomach that gets too full and wanders for hunger  is not a stomach that needs to be fed.

there is

no

resting

place,

(here)

all the beds are broken

so I go where 

I can exist between different worlds 

if hunger ever comes knocking at this door, let him find himself something

in this sheltered body

 

To lie on