the dog and the bird

sitting on the grass in the shadow of the dome I spy a bird over the shoulder of my friend. the bird is tired and beautiful; limping down the pavement, colourful plumage like the parrots from the tropics. the bird is out of place amidst the lime bikes and pigeons by the pond. the bird is trying to fly but can hardly leave the ground. a well-groomed white dog barks from a leash preventing a chase in the direction of the bird. an owner holds the line in one hand and a coffee in the other, focus stolen by another conversation. holding on tight enough he keeps the dog in order out of reflex rather than concern. he doesn't see the bird trying to fly away with broken wings.

my friend and I drink chai from cups we can't recycle, exchanging dreams and nightmares spun from time we've spent apart. with enough distance we can look at where we've been and laugh. she shows me her new tattoo (freshly inked this morning): two doves flying up her calf. the drawing is beautiful and I forget to ask if it hurts. 

in a summer dress

in my dream I'm passing through my hometown in a summer dress. I've not done this before and would I want to would know better than to do so on the island. with fewer people fewer hearts and eyes are open to the world beyond and other ways of doing things. but I don't know better in my dream.

the dress is bright and billows in the wind as I brave the gauntlet through the city. toyed with serendipity almost every passing stranger wears a face I know. those that aren't closed minds that built my closet are ghosts that loved me til they didn't. despite the recognition in their eyes no words are spoken. some sneer or shake their heads. others look away. no one stops to say hello.

in the morning I am tired and my wing stings more than yesterday. with the blinds down the room is dark and I could maybe sleep forever. my questions sit in tidy piles beside our rings. I miss your voice and don't know anything.

more together

breathing in and out of clarity each day. whatever sense I draw from misadventure only buys me dreams in which I lose myself again. when I wake I'm just as far from knowing as I was in sleep. funny to keep brushing teeth and trying. tomorrow I'll be just as lost / in need of validation / toothpaste. 

in the hall I harbour questions like weapons concealed from answers I'm afraid of. the trigger tempts and scares me, like your name / the memory of the way mine sounds on your tongue. not knowing if I want to know. too timid to move either way. even in your absence just the thought of this is fragile.

but maybe it's much smaller. and maybe it's not so dire. I can take your word for now and try to trust the way I want to. there's a world beyond the feelings we can't see. I hope we see some more together.

asteroid in passing

your words take time to find me. not wanting to be waiting I spy the moon and plant my feet into the current moment. accepting where I am I choose to pass the time with pleasant strangers in the space between. in the gaps I orbit conversations, only dipping toes, not a planet or a sun but just an asteroid in passing. there is always somewhere else to be. some nights it's nicer just to linger in the wings.

a stranger tells me we're only one night from a full moon. when I ask him what that means he doesn't have an answer. we laugh about our medication and the lack of sense we make. we both share an astigmatism. it's nice to think of something else for now.

claws

the sun is always shining somewhere. even in then city we can see Venus through the smog / second-hand light at night. for lack of a mountain / better landmark I look to the cranes sprouting from the world between our bedrooms. they watched us glowing in the park the night we didn't want to sleep. I watch them glowing purple through the window on the tram ride home.

somewhere else you're on your way to dance with friends and swim with fish tomorrow. allowing half a breath of hope I think we're both a little lighter now. you listen to a song I sang. playful / careless / drunkish / bliss. you tell me and it makes me smile.

trees and power lines

window shopping at night

not quite ready for the bolt cutters

'if only they were open...'

trees choked in power lines

words or weapons hide a pulse

all care concealed

on another starless night

haunting your supermarket at the end of the world

not so near

not so far

caught on camera

moving pixels

a can kicked down the road

abandoned daydream you might have wanted once

or just confused

screaming in blue light

awaiting sentence

wishing he could know you

see your face

and spend another breath together

held in your heart again.

John the revelator

at the party playing bible dress ups I am drinking from another paper cup. I meet friends of my friends and listen to their stories. wrapped in bedsheets as a stranger I play present in dim lighting: a gospel writer asking questions, showing interest, pretending he is really there. I meet the heartache of the writer, knowing more than I should, trying to see what he sees without giving it away. we laugh about movies and types we won't agree on. he fauns and I'd find it beautiful if not for seeing too much of myself.

you couldn't come because of other plans, though you tell me you've always wanted to wear a toga. your other plans play out without you. I think of you: sick at home, harbouring something I'd kill to take and bear myself instead, keeping quiet, much less tender than before. I take a photo in the mirror just in case you want to see me. the sheet is soft against my skin and would look beautiful on you. but you're not here and won't make sense. I take a knee and pray for mercy. I am the author of the end of days.