“Travel”

She suggested walking at night
when the sky was relatively clear.
There you’d find poetry, scraps
tucked into moments – an ocean
of yellowed nightlights defying
an absent sun. There’d be more
luck there than in off-white rooms
all filled with glowing screens
and things too like life.

it was cold.

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“Uesugi”

 

Break us, bring your life to bear.
Be a new foe, rise up against me.
Fall and all is mine. You did. I wept.

You muttered your life’s glory
over small alcoholic cups.

“Curtained Sunlight”

It’s more like ink than blood,
despite the implications of writing
your death on the page quite so
failingly, haltingly literally.
It’s more like life than not,
despite a general lack of vigour
and movement and love and passion
calling you to rise instead of
midday sunbeams burning your eyes.