This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

Just when I am smearing myself with the bottom of the well, just when I am slamming my temples against the desk of all my foolish labors, just when I am tearing out my hair in fury and in fear, you. You walk through my office door from a thousand miles away and the sight of you is such a salve that I fear that I am finally just seeing things. You tell me your permanent return is once again delayed, but the shock of seeing you is too warm for me to mind. So, there you are. The world exists outside my current terror. The trajectory of my heart’s foolish dramas extends backwards on for years. It will continue on, piercing into the soft flesh of the future. Men with deep blue eyes and menacing smiles are a pack of wolves that have torn me apart, are the sea that keeps me moving, are the wind inside my mouth. They have torn me apart, and they will tear me again, and I may go and return and again, but they and I are always. 

Sid Branca