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I am feeling
unthinkable, naughty thoughts that ought to set my brain on fire but oddly don't.
Instead, I feel
things I can't describe but will try anyway.
I will reduce what I feel to a steel chair in a butchery.
A pigeon eating a crumb of my scone.
A carpet made by a Jacaranda tree.
It sure is warm in here. But deathly cold, too.
I apologise to Ms Collins but it really is either/or and not a matrix.
Not a matrix at all.
No. A matrix of feelings.
Up AND down. Guilt AND excitement.
I am in the middle of my so-called intellectual development and all I feel is
you.

- Trish