on slow processes

The wind teases out the details, leaves my hair in knots.

Shaken like boughs and blown and blown, until the dust lifts and glides into the sky. i am at the point where the water and land clasp at eachother, I am saline and sand.

They are slow processes, abrasion and exposure.

defense mechanisms

I am already gone.

My things may still be strewn around your room but my heart has absconded. In my pocket there is a roll of tape labeled CAUTION. DO NOT CROSS.

I stitch together everything I have left. I am returning to Earth. Slamming the ground like a meteor, ensuring I leave my mark.

and all else...

between sweat and sex i catch moments of sensibility.

i alternate between realities; that of the body, that of the mind. i am floating in the midlands, commuting between the conceptual and the immediate.

on mascara and stars

my heart dips. slinks back into it's room. closes the door behind it. emerges with streaked mascara and smudged lipstick. pours whiskey after whiskey. no ice.

a star is an elusive thing to chase. it's glistening gives no sense of life. scattered amongst the millions it's hard to pinpoint the imprint of your name.

for an absent lover

I went through my entire back catalouge of dirty clothes to find the ones that still smell like you. Mixed them with moonlight and the last drops of saltwater until I could imagine the imprint of your body next to mine.

My sweat is as light as the dawn. As light as my declarations and my fears. I avoid sudden movements. I am as the breeze that stalks the leaves. I am holding my breath. I am holding. I am holding everything.

Back into the laundry. I am scrubbing until these thoughts run clean. Until my sleep is settled like sheep that have no need for counting. Until my heart is not doing arthimetic.

Until it is silent as the leaves that stalk the breeze. As silent as moonlight passing through saltwater. As silent as the imprint of yr body next to mine.

brain fucked

my eyes roll forward. my brain swarms in the late afternoon.
the last drops of the day fall onto my skin. i am hobbling through the edges of the light.

wrap me up in domesticity. let me linger a little longer in bed. let me feast on the carpet and the kitchen. let the dishes serenade me to sleep.

my ideas gallop through hallways. i am mustering them into rooms. i am seperating the lambs from the slaughter.

in the background my heart laughs long and low.

the splash

I found myself somewhere between god and a filing cabinet. There were lists that had been cast aside. My pen dissected the fat from the flesh. Carved small peices where large chunks had congealed.

My feathers were hungry, they feasted on air. The mountain emerged from fog so I could take in the view.

Every swan dive requires perfect precision. I am learning to seperate impact from splash.

the perfect fit...

i will not be estranged from my skin.

where folds of flesh fall upon each other, i trace with fingers. there are no sharp lines in this form. the rises and falls tell the tales of ten thousand, one hundred and twenty five day.

contained within is every memory worth repeating, every thought I'd rather forget.

my soul is too expansive for narrow hips.
although my mind races and my heart pounds
I will never be a greyhound.

droplets

in the grey the desert softens. rivers rise like tides under crescent moons. ankle deep in river water, i revise my childhood.

i want to be slow. snaking through the desert like renegade droplets seeking ancient oceans. i want to stowaway with the storm clouds and let myself fall onto empty places. i want to my movements captured on radars as i form and dissipate and form again.

an empty line

i am a slow steady waltz. moving across the floor at an even speed. my floor pattern consistent

all that separates me from the stars is a difference in chemistry and distance. this is the eternal equation. these are the numbers i cannot compute. the nearest decimal point seems endless. i am reductionism to the extreme.

and you elude me only in silent moments. when my breath is held and my tension is pulled. you are fences and i am wide open spaces. i am holding the empty line.

Scattered

I am walking through the house picking up small peices of myself.
Fragmented thoughts scattered. Particles of cohesive wholes.
Limping through the afternoon, sleeping through to evening.
Stretching my skin in all directions, trying to slide back into myself.

for the earliest hours

as the day grows into itself i am settling into my skin. the mayhem of last night leaves the house silent. it is only me and these keys keeping watch over the morning

in the thickness of the evening the wind picked up. we shifted from sweltering to cool. the atmosphere exhaled in long deep rythems. the timing impeccable. we were blowing away. i abandon all my dreams of ropes. i remember the lessons of sap, and slender branches and leaves.

my brother and i, sitting knee to knee, sink into the ground after so long in the air. these low pressure systems, so heavy in our spine, give way to changes promised by radars for so long.

displacement

the mornings cease to be sharp. the sun does not catch upon skin. in these cool, green hours, you could be forgiven that life here is gentle. that this is an easy place.

yet, sure as the slow buzzing of the alarm must lure me back into living, there is a threshold which must be observed.

if you go walking in this place, if yr own body does not fail you, the mechanics of the desert will displace your remains.

requiem for an unclouded night

I kamikaze in time with cicadas.
Blame it on the moon.

I write requiems for stars. Force everything to be finite. Embellish small actions into grief. Mourning the passing of a ciggerette, the emptying of a cup of tea.

I am spinning tragedies from the wide mass of the universe, as it spreads above me, and i below this. Savouring the moments between contact and separation, between together and blown apart.

Mimicing all the significant aspects of creation.
Dispersed between the poles of time and space.

head in the sand

Up until now I have avoided distraction.

In the late afternoon I grow tetchy. My thoughts tick and my shoulders itch. I am less like water. I am dry and receeding. I am mimicing my landscape once again.

I am thinking my way through the days. I am falling only into my bed at night. My dreams of ocean liners. I am floating only on special occasions.

The romance of distance and isolation and nothingness becomes me. I fall over and over and over again.

on beginnings

my heart hums a slow steady song. my bicycle chases the ranges into the setting sun. my soul goes west(ern) chasing guns.

so the year begins.

i walk perimeters, real and imagined. sit in the corner and observe all i see. i am making notes and lists. learning habits that one day will be mine.

when the days formalities are done with, we imbibe the tonic, fight flame with fire. our sins of the flesh are shared with light hearts.

our shells are cracking
it's been so long since i've seen her this way.