Empty Partum

Vacant, feeling nothing, lonely, nihilistic and alone… These are empty partum days, waiting for my baby to come. Light. Comes in brighter as the morning fog dissipates, burns off as they say here in these parts of the Bay. I am in love with the space, the woods welcome me home life after life. But no baby. Again, to release. And let go of all the sorrow all that was not here to see you tomorrow. Why? I keep chewing on the marrow, The last bites, and pieces of shadows. I rather wallow, Empty partum, she processes the infant’s loss at a cost never seen. To be so keen, to be perpetually mothering but never hovering over a babe, sleepless... But in Seattle you meandered, and many souls you enchanted, and many loves you transplanted, and many people you granted, dreams. You helped, that’s all that is important, it seems. Keep pumping out art and, Project starts that sweep people’s eth’s from wallets and memes.

You're not Empty.