how being on the computer makes me feel kind of weird and empty and sad

standing still, it is impossible to see how things have changed so much.
from longing comes movement.
from movement comes the recognition of change.

small changes add up to small movement,
or perhaps not small at all.

a warm house, a cold day, quiet breathing,
reaching out for poetry--adrienne rich, marge piercy, t.s. eliot, rumi--
to locate myself in this ever-shifting world.

to remember, understand, anchor
the feeling of my body
filling with the light of the full moon.

did you know
that come
comes from the moon?

as life is becoming quieter
the voices in me become shriller.
perhaps this is anxiety, or fire.

i have filled my new small cabin with bins and boxes.
there is not space for all my books, so i will have to choose.
for hours, there is no sound unless i sing or speak aloud,
or the pings and pops of jar lids and things ready to fall from their perches.

i am afraid of getting lost. i am afraid
of the quiet incubating desperation of winter
of dreams without movement.

love, fear. fear, change. change, death. death, sex. sex, desire. desire, liberation. liberation, shame. shame, silence. silence, waiting. waiting, wanting. wanting, giving. giving, taking. taking, opening. opening, change.
change, love death fear death sex death desire liberation change waiting silence death shame opening giving love silence waiting fear taking opening change. sweet potatoes, woodstoves, pine pitch, bitter leaves, coconut oil, toothache, blankets, car exhaust, gasoline, cancer, collapse, elections, morning rituals, small songs, the moon my body the moon my body.

we are moving into the darkness now,
sun stealing away earlier and earlier,
even noon gray-dark with clouds.

missing times, longing times, quiet times,
dreaming times, visioning times, cozy times,
wishing times, deep times, learning times,
resting times, planning times, slow times.

so we dance--
around fires,
on wood floors,
in parking lots,
in the grocery stores,
in the waiting moments,
like our lives depend on it,
like we are dancing for the dead who long for the pleasure of being in a body.

the world gets stranger+ stranger in smaller little pieces that orbit the sun too

the softness of the bed gave me night terrors
in the bedroom below ground with no windows
how human to be folded in a city of books and seas of dust.

winter edges a bit closer every day
yet there's no telling which is winter and which is not
since it is all grey.
the house is bent and comfortable but if you trip
you rot
because here water has its way.
no matter how i fought
the mystery went away
i crushed the mirror and tried to eat it

the air we tore asunder in
eyeless argument and
empty thunder
was me holding back
i meant to say
i never cared +
you're too scared
i saw it in the beginning of the end.

find something to say with what you have
not what you dont.
and on the instance of happiness
drink a little wine but kiss
that moment goodbye
as it takes losing something
to even begin believing in it.