top of page
  • brynn

all sugar

i. here is the vast sea of winter, and my heart is a tiny stowaway. planks creak and nag, beams shift and i draw deep lines with my pacing.

the pulse deadens. i am bailing out buckets upon buckets of cold.

and, and.

no-- no to you-- no to your blackstrap eyes and drumskin,, no to the reds of your history and wine your siren-song; our enigmatic quips and endless defenses, our poses

like some familiar cuteness, forgotten.

oh, the snow can wage. let it.

don't we already know its deep silence? its dull weight? and, ultimately, its secession? sigh. what more can we say of a force whose only power is in its accumulation?

ii. bury me. cretinize me, i am prepared to lose. dole out your days to me, january, lye-soaked,, in an effort to leach some fractured version of our memory:

my hands, your mouth moving infinitely in the dark, the way light reflects on sugar.

by no, i mean,


5 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


change is not a swift thing, but a stagnant or slow-moving pond, accompanied by the cracking of dry sticks or bones. there are setbacks. the child emerges without a face, without a gender, without a r

and this grief is an ocean

please, don't fight. just listen. you owe it to me. when i breathe, i deflate. without you here, i don't know when to sleep, or wake up. i do little of either. but don't follow me. don't look back, an


tell me about the cold, i say. you cannot fathom the sounds; or the vast, blue distances that compose her working memory. she speaks to me in sea water, in blue solitude and salinity. she speaks only


bottom of page