people at the mall

I overhear a breakup whilst I’m typing study in the food court. she asks questions. when he doesn’t respond she starts to cry and speak quicker. a pigeon stirs to scraping chairs and flies into the ceiling. Mum falls asleep on her hands on the table. faux marble and laminated timber. man in green plaid shirt giggles like the joker into his phone across the hall. his laugh would give me nightmares. I wonder if my mum can hear him in her dreams.

ocean of dreams

how much living am I doing between my screens and dreams? last night I lost you in the ocean. I hope you made it home okay.

my inner feral

when we can't start the car we leave the house to meet the neighbours. the retired psychiatrist lives in an old convict hospital next door. in the kitchen we break bread between the shrink and a forest nymph, drinking his wine and listening to her stories. you hold my hand under the table. together we do well to keep them entertained into the afternoon. I could listen to you laugh forever.

the forest nymph asks about my inner feral. her own led her from straight lines in the academy to a lagoon at the end of the world. am I listening to mine?

elektra

trawling the panopticon they made for art / for fun / you didn't like until you did

you count the floors we climb past ghosts and strangers

I count the sleeps before you go

people pose in shades by headless angels

partners take their portraits

you feel in ways I can't explain from one container to the next

I list the things that make the chamber

wishing I could write your thoughts as clearly with my fingers.

Kiefer's prison: concrete, shipping containers, barbed wire, rolls of rilm on zinc, plaster, hay, reinforcing bars, timber, tin, glass floor, cables hanging lightbulbs, assorted sticks, old palms, dried sunflowers, water (stagnant), shards of glass, memory (perhaps).

penguins and robots

we ride bikes to keep afloat and circumnavigate the island. our peddling keeps us up above the water. and so we race the sun into the bay before it sets. you're laughing and I can't keep up. at dusk we pass the man at the end of the pebble beach with his hand open to heaven. a drone descends into his palm. our search for penguins only leads to robots.

after dinner you'll tell me to leave the dishes. on the floor by the fire you'll hold my hand and sing. maybe I'll scratch your back. either way I know you'll wrap my limbs up tight in yours.

just another corner

we walk around the corner where something happened once. only we remember what and why it matters. I remind myself that every corner matters to someone, that this is just another corner to anyone else. it's a funny thought passing over the spot we stopped and started tying knots into each other. I passed you and turned back three times before coming back. you waited where you were with the flashing green man. we pass him now a little less clear / free / impish than before, however many months since falling into orbit, dragging heads and hearts of however much uncertainty of what it means and why.

I think about the corner being just another corner. before something happened I'd cross that pavement every day without a thought. how many Babels did I pass today? how much can truly matter without being there to care?

how I'd like to know the end

I want to kiss you as we watch the world disintegrate through someone’s big glass window

with a view of the city

we can see the flames and mushroom clouds

and listen to the sirens

as you hold me in the last light

your fingers in my hair like flowers

your scent and my lips in the curve of your neck

we sing and we sway to the thunder of hooves

the sky as it falls

and the beast at the door

when not a boulder remains

in the moment we choose to be as we are without question or doubt

the heavens descend

and there’s no better way

to waste precious breath

to greet judgement day.