it’s you, still
against the countertop
using it against me
counteracting:
clutching a poorly put-together
mixed drink
with mixed expression
knowing that no matter
how messily you move
away in festival or flight
daydream, doorway,
taxi, cataracts…
it’s you, still

– k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #writing   #quote   #literature  


In the same way
I would spend hours as a child
trying to trick the refrigerator
into spilling all - “Does your light
stay on when
your doors shut?” - I watch
you walk away and
wonder if I’m really hungry
or just curious.

Around Midnight, k.s.

#poetry   #quote   #lit   #writing   #quotes  

so when the world ends, starting Monday
I’ll try circling the drain -
it’s something I was always told
not to do but hey, maybe there’s something
down there nobody wanted me to see -
I’ll crane
my neck down
a bottle of beer twinkling prostrate nearby.
I’ll circle again

on Tuesday, I’ll take a walk:
Brisk, where now I try not to trip,
because what’s armageddon if you don’t
turn up late, sleeves fraying,
grip tight on the rail and knees
scuffed with grit and gasping

for Wednesday through Saturday
that’s when I’ll start
deconstructing myself for the
very last time and my heart -
all its chambers,
the finishing line -
in sight I’ll go grey but all else
redesigned,
sipping wine

so on Sunday
I’ll sleep
kinetically ground into dust
open my eyes: Armageddon again,
Monday rush


– k.s.


collecting stones to skim
i’d watch them sink a thousand times
before meeting your eyes
when you ask me if i’d like to take your hand and try
to walk on water again

– k.s.

#spilled ink   #poetry   #lit   #quote   #words  

let me trade in this clock i’ve grown
between my ribs for a compass and
these suburban redbrick
fingers for a different shade of green
across each knuckle make me lost
make me lost make me lost
stop me counting to ten and back again
make my breathing quick
my teeth sharp
my time more than a heavy
second-hand heart
in an antique graveyard for the fearful,
the hateful, and the hard

– k.s.

#spilled ink   #quote   #poetry   #lit   #words  

i saw the things you took from
me floating in centrifugal motion and just
out of reach thought if i bleached
my eyes i could work with
the whites of my bones like blank slates
but the state of my self
was a far cry from clean and occupied
with other hands which held and
tied like chains in my chest and took and
took i was filing myself
down like glass to shatter into quicksand and
sinking
took me years to distract from the fact
you shook my skin
into a hollow way of thinking
so that i couldn’t look in a mirror and see
my own eyes blinking i was a new-
age vampire no reflection no detection
of the fact i was recycling old breaths
i’ll take from what you took
burn old leaves
bind new books

– k.s.

#poetry   #spilled ink   #lit   #quote   #words  

There’s getting out of bed and
there’s getting out of town and
I did both today!

But getting a grip and
getting out of my head is
proving somewhat taxing.

Leaving furniture behind in
left-behind prefab towns and
trying to begin

is very well until you flex your hands and
touch your temples pulsing that you
already did.

Because there’s getting out of bed and
there’s waking up and
I guess I’m half way there, today.


The Middle, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #writing   #quote   #words  

sitting on floors of airport halls
helped with thoughts of slamming doors
on slights against my character;
how souring lights cease to matter
struggling bugs and all
once you flick the switch or twist the bulb;
tug-of-war with dawn;
duty-free and weightless-limbed -
i sought out the sanding down
of glass made palatable,
hoisted old but stood up new
then five hours later slept through
tarmac told and wings surrendered use -
still i’m not sure what that says,
but if my shed skin grows replaced
maybe my mind (in leaving it behind)
can too

descend is a ‘to be’ verb, k.s.

#poetry   #lit   #quote   #writing   #words  

catch a falling star and
toss it back into the sky
(after having a good look,
palming heat in hands)
much like a fish out of water stars are
muffled in pockets gasping for spark
stolen for wishes
tugged out of the dark

– k.s.

#poetry   #words   #lit   #quote   #writing