not photos

Poetry

these days i wake slow slink out of bed to bathroom and shoes take the elevator down from some strange room to walk the city in gray drizzle blue cold midtone wind tunnel

i keep a watch i don't look at i hold a map i don't need the new days are alive all old days are dead leave them in the tissue paper and fall in love with solitude

#poetry

for a while, I kept up old habits following new friends into the snowy night accumulating new stories without a plot

somehow you haven't yet seen how to see yourself — but in those fleeting moments you come through clearly in the deepest breath of cold fresh air

#poetry

This is a small story for you, dear reader.

~ ~ ~

A work of fiction.

* * *

I will continue to write it, even if I don't know what it's about. The goal is to tell it, as anyone would want to.

– – -

You might like to get emails from me.

Well, they're not really from me; a computer standing between me and you sends you a copy of what I wrote. Then you can read it in your mailbox.

Maybe you'll enjoy it still. Even with the man standing between us.

See you inside.

- Matt

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