Your Letter My Letter

It is strange how words

cut through crust and dirt

caked on and gathered in layers

from the dusty rumble of the day,

This is a system of forms and lines

delicately aligned

but felt like injection,

as icey flow

shocks neurons

into new action.

Again you failed to outwit

the inevitable energy of the universe,

always circling,

always bringing people back to you,

their sloping scawl on the page

a reminder that they are still listening

to your syncopated heartbeat.

Weight has caught up to you

and for the thousandth time you fail

to outwit her

because she lives in the back of your headspace

and she feeds off these words

They nourish her in a way nothing else does.

She is calling you to breathe fire,

speak in tongues,

drop messages of your own

back onto the page

and back in the repository of the universe

to find what needs them.

Blend these words

with all the ones that have come before

and carry them as oxygen cells

in your veins.

Andrew Bushs’ photographs of envelopes showcase the beauty and simpilcity of the letter.







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