• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 03


The blue of the sky is as dense
as the throng of bodies
on a packed commuter train.
Sweat pooling in rush hour
armpits, hangovers squatting like toads
in tired heads as we are gently crucified
on the wooden beam of routine.
Flashes of a future glimpsed
through grimy glass, we scrub
at the stain of years past
whilst doing anything to avoid
looking directly into the bright light
of today. Sun blindness soothes retinas.
How can we reach the rainbow?
Climb the web like desperate insects?
Or use tools, like the soft humans we are?
The aftermath of a violent act; wires cut,
padlock smashed. Sea choppy, rescue helicopter
landing just out of shot; dot, dot, dot
dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot.
Purple fades into yellow like an old bruise.
The flamboyant pink of sunrise
is a beckoning siren.