Day 16: BUT

Okay, so there’s this rule…that everybody knows…that I also just made up…that if the day ends before you fall asleep, it is NOT ACTUALLY OVER.

So, on that note: Hi, I just got home from the dreaded double shift and I shall count today as Day 16 whether Joseph Gordon-Levitt likes it or not.

Anyways I wrote you a poemy type thing on the bus ride home and it probably makes no sense which is AWESOME because that’s how you know you wrote a good poem…right? I named it “But”. One ‘T’ only. You’re welcome.


The story reads from right to left
Starting from the top
Down the page
And on past the commas, periods, and exclamation marks.
In between those lines
We learn
Things are not what they seem.

For these brief words have been sifted
and eroded
and compacted
and fossilised.

Here it reads, “boy meet girl.”
Here at the sharpest end of a tiny pin
In a box of your mother’s jewelery
In a tomb of a dusty room
In a house that vibrates with the anxiety of secrets that it keeps in it’s tight
And static
Geographical location.

Beside the there
Within the town of that
And ever larger nesting dolls of etc.’s
Hide it well.

With this refinery
It is possible to stumble upon such a sure story and write it down as
Evidence and
Profound fact
With the beginning as “boy”
And the climax as “meets”
And the end as “girl”
And the “.” as happily ever after
And forever
And always.


Perhaps the boy has met another girl
Or maybe the girl drove her car off the bridge
Or the boy finds the greatest peace in knitting
And the girl plays heavy metal
All things
Far too run-on and messy
For the neat sentence that here contains their lives
In such an false
Yet acceptable way.

For stories may be told
But the truth remains locked in what we hold onto
Beating steadfast in our rattling ribcages
Set free in the moment of
That things are not what the seem.

This present moment
The domino on which you perch with fleeting balance
Is the only

For here
It is all

2 thoughts on “Day 16: BUT

  1. Certain images really stood out like ‘beating steadfast in our rattling ribcages’ and ‘In a house that vibrates with the anxiety of secrets’. I read the poem once…and then again…which is good.

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