fish out of water

you were a fish with the name of a dog

I was alone getting lost in the fog

waiting for nothing til something else came

looking for nothing but something to tame

fish out of water you move like a dream

showing me stars in your eyes in the stream

drowning me softly to your favourite song

you wanted me til you knew I was singing along

nettles (all the time)

stages of grief (widely used, empirically unsupported)

the cloud of unknowing (we cannot understand god through reason, only love)

all about love (someone else is reading at another table)

nettles playing in green refectory. I hear her voice under the scrape of chairs and plates and strangers. gardenias on the tile... look out into the river made of tram lines by the rain. you said we'd make it through the fog. tell me all the time not to worry... I can only think of you. and I wish she was right but she's not. you held back and it made a difference.

leave me in the stream with your hook through my heart. let me miss you. let me dream another day: banging down my door to say this meant more than the end we don't need to make sense but can we swim again together can we be all the time at least for now? think of us inside...

silence is a storm is my pillow is the bird in your teeth. silence is an empty church a page to fill with grief. the mind is a boulder is too heavy knowing you and that we were. your name is always everywhere. eternal sunshine me.

re: something I wrote months ago

these imagined people don't exist. watch us let them break our hearts another thousand times. how much can we trust anything more than a moment? nothing is fair all we have are choices. I choose to love you and you choose to go to work. we choose to love and they choose to leave. Joni was right. he said he was as constant as a northern star. constant? a northern star is dead light. you can't see it in the city or the morning. she chose to write about him. we chose to care. maybe. I've drunk a little much. goodnight.

what I do

close door

close eyes

drop phone

dream

think of you

ride the ripples / waves / aftershock

ride my bike

tie my shoes

talk to anyone but you

write (for nothing)

listen

        to the wind

        to your voice

                    songs we sang and things you said

wash face

wash clothes

call parents

call a friend

play the supercut again

check the news to check my pulse (not gone)

scroll and see what else is on

think of us

wonder why

close my eyes again

cry

fold and eat and shit (and fold and eat and shit)

shower

pray for dreams and severance

sleep

forget

think of you again

invasive maple shade

eyes closed in the shade of invasive maples. evading obligations incognito / across the path from south lawn / horizontal (on my back). I eavesdrop footsteps / the changing of the guard between classes / gossip in a foreign language. wind brings brief relief, dancing on my nose to fend the heat. branches swing into the sky / into a choir. how sweet the green leaves sing in spring.

war is bad and anything is possible on the backroom wall. I envy the etchings in their hiding / never having seen your face. when you held me I saw everything and only wanted more. for a moment you did too. our eyes couldn't lie in the dark.

two stanzas

I dream a mushroom cloud of foreign homes and nearly missing flights. my bags are stuffed with clothes I'll never wear and food I never asked for. at the departure gates you text me poetry that isn't yours. two stanzas I can't remember. in the morning there is nothing but another day without.

the letterbox is empty. your silence is a dagger through my chest. a black moth fights the ceiling fan and I am crippled by the memory of being what you wanted.

since then

I've started riding again. my wrists are feeling stronger and I can use the brakes without any strain in my thumbs. it's good to be back on the road. not having to check the trams is wonderful and I hadn't realised how much I'd missed the wind in my face. this morning I charged down Sydney Road, Phoebe screaming what I can't right through my ears to hold my bleeding heart. it felt like flying. unsurprisingly the music is my medicine and fuel. Mitski and Sufjan et al. I skip man of the year, knowing he's not ready yet but may be soon.

the show went well. I wasn't enjoying it so much until we moved into the theatre last week. once we were in the rhythm and more familiar with each other we started to loosen and relax a little more. the other players were lovely. between long hours and the claws of our directors we managed to laugh a lot. my costumes were silly. the gravedigger wore dark denim overalls and boots. I think you would have liked him. the stage was a square, with audience skirting the show in each direction. I didn't invite anyone, though a few friends came along with flowers. I still hoped I'd hear you laughing in the dark one night.

do you know what you'll be for Halloween? I'd love to see your costume. I'm slowly finding armour for mine (my friend is lending me their chain mail). I want to be my favourite saint, the one they sold off as a witch and burnt alive for saying what she meant. when we still were I'd hoped we might end up dressing up together, like we had for the spaceship party. we turned the mirror in my room and painted faces on the floor. I wore your purple stars because you said they looked better on me. we danced with my friends and you kissed me in the pantry and the playground. we rode our bikes and sang and glowed together in the dark. 

at night I drink tea and listen to the static / what I remember / songs we played and breathed together. I wonder what you're doing / how you're feeling / where you are. I wonder if you read the letter / think of me. I wash my face and brush my teeth and I still think of you.