Beard and Dinos
Sunny day, Moon Song.
'The past is just a story we tell ourselves.'
Just when I was looking for comfort, this movie has preoccupied me with questions too heavy for my skull, and thoughts of all that is complicated and painful. Completely bowled over.
'Wonderful music like this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.'
I didn’t realise how much I’d invested in this
until my knees locked on Blackfriars Bridge.
I knew I’d stay there far too long
I knew I’d rather stand there –
you telling me everything I didn’t want to know –
than to never stand with you at all.
I’ve knitted my friend a new, happy appendix to replace the one she’s just had removed.
'With writing, we have second chances.'
My ropey cover of Sharon Van Etten’s Give Out.
The day’s been dozing since sunrise.
The taller ones bend through obstacles honey thick
while the children whip, turn, stop dead
with the same excitement that comes with first snow.
They are limber in their smallness
and I have eroded behind the o shaped face
I save for their twitterings.
I am slowed while they climb
into the shapes they’re growing towards
and I strain to keep up.
As they stretch upward,
knowing smooth segments of things,
I lean down to absorb some of the quickness,
but I bend until bowed
and fray to unravel.
Anything to keep them from finding out
that tall things can come apart.
I fill a bath without the cold tap
because I want to feel part of something.
I lower all of my skin
into temperatures it’s conditioned to recoil from,
run red rings around my middle
play the part of Saturn in the swell
where the water is at its thickest.
If I stay still
my whole body throbs.
I hold my breath to feel nothing but this.
The water is cloudy with juniper and lime;
I inhale it
just to live in something for a minute
Under cloud I squeeze my head
ask all the roots to grow greener
and I picture cutting them off
at their tiny beginnings.
Ears shut, I listen to the thumping
thing that’s only mine
and I tell it
to leave off now,
leave off now.
My body lay there beside me
never quite knowing when to be quiet.
These most recent two (^/v) have been a long time in the editing pile, but I think I’m done now.
For a time
the shape of a question mark
and I’d ball up at the bottom
both of us part of the question.
Warm, we’d turn together
rolling away from the bundles
of world out the window
framed in beige –
everything damp out there, slow growing.
You’d lie with arms outstretched –
an empty shrug in sleep
and when I’d slide in to offer the reason,
your shoulders would melt back down
With the rest of your chest
my chin would go
agreeing over and again
with the shape of things.
We were tidy,
this made everything else so tiny.
This was the answer to the darkest
of half formed question marks.