Rosie Cook

Who am I when not loved? Floating in the hands of others, Cradled and cupped, Their eyes and how they see me making me light. Without it I could drown  Wash up and waste away - Then I could be anything  Inanimate, Empty with everythings  They keep me full.  Who

Living is looking forward  to nothing, Looking forward to everything,  means actually to,  Look forward  to nothing.  In that to look forward  is to abandon  the moment, The most living and ferocious real everything we have, Because what’s forward  is nothing  Nothing  - and I mean a white hazy

Things are settling now The sediments of life breeze into a space  You once inhabited -  I, empty  out as it fills. Perhaps,  It is pieces of me that are taken  to fill in this gap.

Hustle bustle beat Beats beating mine and yours // Can’t read the words, worlds on my lap can see words, worlds once I fold the pages back

A still living  A faint buzz, hum  To remind you ...

Joy in conversation lacked and then had  It’s nice to be with you  And out of myself

When thoughts never stop  Moments sometimes tinge with an off-coloured brown  Like old cigarettes  Or paper that’s been burnt at the sides. Moments  All white and crisp  Until the flaming end Of rolled up paper and tobacco  Preys on the corners edge Threatening to let it all go Up

It’s nice to not need anything To sit softly in the hangover haze  slow and fuzzy     happenings around me

Hat floating  in the air  cradling a body not there  Especially yours  Majestic mystery of mastery nestled in finely kept roses  That (probably) smell the same as when you were here.   Is it wrong?  A museum made of house A patchwork of was and is and may still be  Are