i’m trying to make a habit
of looking up. turns out,
you see more. moving through
manifold gardens, glimpsing
the castle over council house
roofs, next to cigarette tower
industrials stabbing the skyline.
she told me, long ago, she’d sworn
to create more than she destroyed.
burning ground to make way
for something new. intoxicating,
breathing in the past and grinning
at its absence. yes-saying
future-making. existence precedes
essence. books pile up
on desks, names and contents blur
together. apathy is death, decay, we
watch it fade away or prop it up
or help destroy it either way we build
again eventually. i don’t know.
rainfall, feet in a mess of scorpion grass
we took our time and cultivated
blood, let it drip down through us,
little leaves falling with the weight.
today we set our house in order
the tree does not know
its roots. it had a name,
like most things do. we
were everything at once,
stuck on images. garlands
descending to the forest,
anointing fallen, red flakes
twist and shift, crumbling
into outstretched palms.
she was the oasis. it was her
that brought us life, swept
across the sands and let
us live the lives we did.
alternate fates, warm winter days
by the window. great swirl of snow
and leaves, quiet mist of hot drinks,
and rambling mornings spent repeating.
this is how we passed our day.
make it an affirmation, but
beyond that – make it okay.
what’re we doing?
everything’s fine, sit down,
let yourself relax for five
minutes, at least, please
it’s cooking, patience, leave
well alone. nothing to do
other than wait.
please, it’s okay. stay
in the living room, watch
the telly, quiet, not long
slow down, it’s boiling.
chew your food. relax.
when the world stops being real
(something about fogs,
see-through banks of
mist, twisting to intercede
reality – then i say
vignetted, like that
what are we supposed to do?
are you sure you’re not just burned
out or lacking sugar or not getting out
enough or maybe you’re just depressed
or you’re overreacting and this is normal
you’re not real i wrote you