early morning news

I read the early morning news for fuel:

my perverted alarm

stronger than coffee and dark as the past

deepening the shadow of the conscience I neglect

they pause the peace to kill more kids

learning to hope in the shell of a lie that we care

their blood paints the streets

I wash my face

clear the sting of SPF tears

somewhere between dreams and demands

safe from taxes

and the bombs they build

just a nightmare for my phone I choose to witness when I want

like the monster in the mirror

or tomorrow

waking for another one

the lights are on

other people talk

and I am spitting on a house fire.

crawling back

some kind of phantom solace: resignation to excuse the day without loathing where it leads me. growing up or giving in? we make the same bed either way. every trial takes the carriage to the pillow or the grave.

we stop by the beach on the way to the airport. you live in a jar just over the hill with a view of the bridge between strangers. I've not visited all year and maybe this is growth, though I think I've just found other gods to blame for how I am. Dad asks me to tell him what he can do to help. I don't have an answer and feel embarrassed by my dependence on problems I draw somewhere between my apathy and privilege. my parents watch and wait for word on what I need. I waste their love on metrics I can't meet: a prodigal parasite crawling back for more.

clouds open for flying. I spy five parrots from the passenger seat. the driver talks to someone else.

snow and dreams

I wait for change behind the wheel: saving for a rainy day and hiding when it comes. tears whinge down the windscreen. guilt and laundry perpetual as oxygen I breathe through gritted teeth. my words fall out of order into empty dishes. I can't stand the sound of their weight on my voice. eyes close for birdsongs through the rain to cleanse a rotting soul. aching through the static just to end where we begin; a broken puppet twitching on a pillow. tomorrow waiting in the wings for more. I beg the night for snow and dreams too beautiful to wake from.

clocks I can’t see

and all we do is fill the empty spaces as they come. doors and open mirrors. your bed, my grave, an outlet mall. playing house forever in between.

the words flood every room, bursting pipes and spoiling any hope for making sense. I stare at the ceiling with a will too weak to open the door or my eyes to anything other than this. the world feels further every breath and death bought with my apathy and taxes. feelings blur like vision underwater; clocks I can’t see ticking in the walls. no more meaning than the motion pictures. I wish I knew my lines.

books

can I exist beyond the pile of books you'll never read?

sinking

the realm of possibility shrinks. I sink further into myself with the rain on the window and a headache. enough damage without the headlines. 'what a miserable day'.

when I come home the rooms feel empty despite every memory's ghost and pictures on the walls. the cat doesn't remember me. I feel too long and lonely in the bed that's held me more than any other ever will. what has become of my refuge? where do I turn now? I blame the brain I can't think beyond for every loss and damage. I miss my openness and hope. maybe it's just another day. stars shift behind curtains and forecasts change. there's always more tomorrow.

the cage only tightens. blue light screams through empty shells and words that never end. I don’t understand anything.

bedlam

attachment wounds scar to be seen and understood. vulnerability opens doors to more. shutting down and disconnecting; just a dream or two of respite from the shame of being who I am. the scenic route leads nowhere different. some kind of fear that lingers irrespective of the day. 

I bring what I can to the table. something stolen from mum or the internet - whatever I fit in my bag. other people eat and I can serve a purpose. tanks leave less empty on my fuel. I wash dishes and feel a little better: my time went somewhere other than the drain. 

another school burns through the night on my phone. I wash my face and wish I wasn't watching from the cheap seats. let the sirens mind themselves for now. just keep yourself clean. donate blood and do what you can to keep the bedlam going.

my minimum core

do we need cages to make animals? I draw a case of absent thinking at my minimum core. with everything essential satisfied, I keep the surface clean and fears contained. the sun surfaces to settle: we play along and even in debt do our best to keep up. I dress for other people, stopping and starting on traffic light time. the roads pulse urgency, currents of consumption on the way to something more. I follow the signs and relish their direction. gaps in reason can't be filled with words. diversion is a gift.

in the house I wash dishes and clothes in different machines, leaving nothing to show for my mess or what I've done. the performance prevails, claiming some sort of clean if I try hard enough. I tend to virtual gardens and sustain another day, moving silent through the evening on patterns serving no one. their webs tighten and I suffocate on solace. when I brush my teeth I remember to pray, though the language evades and I fall further from fluent each night. how much can one beg for a world they don't believe in?

you tell me you scream in your car to stay calm. I wish you'd let me listen.

from fiction

dreams only agitate the conscience. can any good be drawn from fiction? stories to shadows to blurs under eyelids, never quite enough to fill my empty hands and heart. I lose my way and faith in maps. how far can I run til I start coming back?

friends

last night we pitched your tent outside a warehouse for a party. the air was warm enough for short sleeves even after sundown. you like the summer and I like to see you smile. everybody wants you; you just want to make some friends.

at some point we break for air to the beach by the exit. gentle waves rolling blankets under stars. we swim and freeze our bones before I lose you in the dark. wandering the warehouse blind as though I've lost my head. I stir to sense some hours on in someone else's tent. crawling back to ours I find you sleeping on my pillow. and I had thought you'd left.

by your side I lie and wonder what you're dreaming. the party dies to lullabies. I wake to no alarm.

vacuum-sealed

my neighbour in the library writes in a different alphabet. I can barely string another sentence in my own. sitting among lawyers and teachers and doctors, all with functions and something to bring to the table. professions with purpose. vacuum-sealed skills from shelves I can't reach. I rake the sand over a mind with nothing more to show than fears. what am I beyond this feeling? we learn about children and the world we've said we owe them. everything is grown up. I do my best to play along and speak their language. every second closer to lost balance. why did I leave myself behind? I look for someone else to blame down stairs that never end.

looking back at boulders

I wake past my alarm and lose the time to fold and fixate on the things I shouldn't. in the shower I try to remember when last I felt good at something. in the mirror my teeth are still crooked. you still have all your limbs. knowing what I know I wash my face and carry on.

time pours through other people's thoughts and dialogue. I ride between desks listening to conversations I pay to be prescribed. there's talk of getting better, growing out and into health. looking back at boulders to give them names. I keep an ear out for my voice; ruled by ego even in disorder. 

a crow picks at worms from gaps in the lawn. the wattle bird drains life from the flowers. I join the waiting room to renew my diagnosis. they check I'm sick enough before they give me what I need. they do. I pay by card and don't want a receipt.

shoes or Sisyphus

at the rally the city stops to listen for a pulse. the cameras watch a mass of mammals mourn the loss of human conscience. cardboard prophecies and faces of children lost to ash or rubble. mantras to keep the faith and abstain from checking our phones. the voice of history calls for the fall of Rome to reckon with the scales of justice. headlines call to burn the witch tomorrow. trudging tram lines under flags a retiree lectures empty spirits on collective freedom and responsibility. he asks me why the masses can't mobilise well enough to make change or actions that matter. I blame apathy and the mirror. 'we can't get over ourselves', etc. he insists we're better than that. I envy his remaining faith.

time turns beyond every breath. every breath is only ever just enough for now. the days last longer and I envy another hemisphere slipping slowly into cold. the billboard says the reward for running is more running. I can't tell if they're selling shoes or Sisyphus.

time turns beyond the end of days. in the dark I hear her laughing at tomorrow's mushroom cloud. I crawl through the dark and claw for popcorn left behind. she's staying for the credits. I hope they finish soon.

clean again

when do we start telling stories? every breath a moment further from the clear blue conscience. there was a time before. we were happy in the dark and soap was enough for sleeping. edges blur with headlines passing, only ever harder to remember how it felt. the water runs red to stain everything I touch. when can I be clean again?

bandaids

what good are arms or words? I don’t need your bandaids. no one holds me like the midnight tram.

headlines and the mirror

cats howl for love beyond the window through the witching hour and dreams. their pleas are unsuccessful, underscoring parties trashing mansions in my head. my fingers trace the pathways down your forearms for a moment. you laugh with someone else against the doorframe, watch me move their furniture. violet velvet armchairs, ugly lamps. the bed frame feels too light and your smile isn't enough to drown the questions I can't ask. are you even there? do you want to leave with me?

sun and birdsong. the buffer lasts longer with summer in the wings. time and effort stretched through webcams and corridors of other people's words. screams from video games make more sense than the current state of things. I dwarf my own potential with more headlines and the mirror. 

'use by' stamp

I keep paying people to listen. they ask questions and I talk my way around answers. what must we do when we run out of fuel? the woman on my screen says she found me at the bottom of a well. things can and have been worse. at the very least I sound a little lighter than before.

'performance requires high-level processing'. the stage isn't a tram ride. I confess I expected more from my body and brain. she adjusts her tone to teach: when deprived the body dictates where the fuel is needed to keep running. the body never hopes to change - hope is for the heart and disappointment. the body does not want to change, and will only renovate with consistent fuel.

I take notes to work on later. you need to make it as easy as possible (there is nothing easy about it). why am I so scared of the only way back? the cure is a nightmare in the fridge (without a 'use by' stamp). she says I should make it about maths.

I skipped the vigil

and I whinge and I whinge and I whinge. to be silent is to be left with myself or the world, and I cannot seem to stomach either. I breathe with my eyes closed to wait for sleep again. when it comes it ends and all I want is more.

privilege poisons everything. I watch the credits run and loath the day that's soon to come. knowing what I know I sleep and dream. in the morning I fold and wash myself through gritted teeth. when I sit to read the news it's for myself, to test the pulse and what's still working. I've watched children dying on my phone every morning for two years now. still the ego persists: my own trials and simulations colonise the first and final thoughts of every day. a year ago I wept on the steps of town hall for the loss of human conscience. tonight I skipped the vigil for a bedtime I won't make.

words don't mean much anymore. I listen to people who still know how to use them. sometimes I think about the thoughts they choose not to say. more often I think of myself. when prodded for attention I feel my own words spill out in uncertain breaths. they do so without meaning. I don't recognise the voice. the words are stolen from places I can't remember. I don't know what I'm saying and don't really care. words don't mean much anymore. how much can they matter in an age of apathy?

my taxes have been killing kids since the first time I claimed pay. I’ve known better for two years now and I still wake up for more.

my openness

words are fickle homes for thoughts and feelings. they're heavy and too tight and my frame can't hold them all. I want to leave them somewhere else. wash my hands, make room for something more that matters. I remember my heart. when we were kids I couldn't pass the people on the street begging for food. now I see them in the city and turn the other way. what happened to my openness?

I cried in the bath under the water last week. not for the world I wake to lose faith in, or the children I watch limping in and out of death on loop. my tears spoiled the bathwater for myself alone. the boy in the mirror can't hear his heart. he'll sooner watch the world burn than turn on the lights. I wish I lay there longer.

rainbow fish

I sleep through the alarm into the afternoon. by time I wake the rally's running through the streets, too far forward for my catching up to headlines in a rush. I dream of wasting time with someone beautiful. science says we can't draw new faces asleep but I can't place yours. we sneak out of our dorms into the library past curfew, finding secret spots to kiss. you show me rooms I've never thought to open. I relish the feeling of your smile against mine. it's been a while now. we spin through the night like kids, kissing through hallways and scheming dreams to treasure til I wake. when I do I think of where I've been and what I've spoiled. I know joy can strike like missiles and some footprints last forever. you hang over every thought until the winds change and you don't.

we drove an hour over tramlines just to buy a vacuum cleaner. the pot plants wait another week. I listen to the rain outside and draw the rainbow fish.

eyes that can't see

vanity makes nomads of the masses. exceptions hide their faces from their phones. watch the currents of the rest of us chase attention through the bardo in and out of dreams to death. waiting in every hall, holding out for breath to wrangle audience from shadows. please witness me. scream louder at mirrors than bombs with peace enough to only fear the former. lost in ourselves in spite of funeral pyres of children. what good are eyes that can't see? 

graduation cap

I see your face on my phone for the first time in months

graduation cap and gown

a smile and glasses like mine

you look tired

and a moment omits the worlds between us

if I could forget

I remember my name on your voice in the dark

not wanting to sleep

to keep the dream safe from the sun

logic

and decay

like it meant more than chance

a string of tears and chemical reactions

like it mattered in the face of today

who we were and left behind

misremembered circumstance

adored in absence

through the screen

did we mean what we said?

do you want to forget? 

mourned in silence

on my phone

until you haunt my dreams again.