- Vol. 06
- Chapter 01
For years you told me your dreams
A falling body looks
for these thermals, is borne up.
I'm always running.
I'll visit you.
It's only in memory,
that twisted bridge,
that we meet this way:
with an eye for composition
sharing the two halves
harmonising cut edges
For years I ascended the stairs
which led to no better understanding.
Just to your door. I can hear the radio.
You're singing along. My body waits
to be told off
and on again.
I'll leave a fun-sized greeting card
at the scene of the crime.
The sunset is a paper crown coronation,
the houses collapse. People in the
foreground, lighthouse behind.
(shadow puppets, broken
beacons, wrapping paper pressed
There's nothing to bind us.
Our fate is story.
What children make
from their dirty hands.
Memory is not just corroboration.
It's resistance, too:
my face drawing me
into the consciousness of glass
which honours my distortions.