1. Time to Write
2. Being with US tribal members
3. Playing in NYC
The nights spent in the house I grew up in bring back odd memories when I’m creeping around at 3am trying not to make any noise. Like how to tilt the door when you close it so it doesn’t creek and how much weight you’re allowed to ease on each wooden step without making a sound.
We did so much sneaking around as kids… I permanently walk on my tiptoes in the dark…
So after laughing about this quality last night… I started to write this poem which I finished this afternoon… during a script break. Because you know I’m still all over that shit…
seeking permission to walk in the dark
Without ask. What have you been through? Walking
on toes to not upset a sleeping home.
Surrounding silence. Dreaming. Not talking.
Feather feet float across clouds. Free to roam
patchouli whispers. A nightlight promise.
Secrets of shadows. Blankets to hold in
her rose scent and fragility. Both his
consistencies. How things always begin
on your toes in the dark. Night qualities.
The way life takes shape when the sun goes down.
Sky swimming through stars like fish in the sea.
No excuse today. Safety just to be.
Without ask. What have you been through? Show me.