Centred

After twenty eight hours, three cities and two towns I'm back in the desert. My face contorts as we touch down. Laden with cases and bottles of grog, draping furs and stories behind me. The skies open like the ranges. I curl up in my old self.

sublime

wrapped in salt and water dreaming of the red sandy place. the last day in the city is sublime. dancing with dali and dumplings. remembering to look up at the sky.

my pressure points easing. supple once again. i am slipstreams and alleyways. chasing fish still swept in water. porous and expansive, my afternoon slips into the horizon.

for all the cities lace petticoats, I long for the simple lines of home.

post post its

Cleared of obligations and drunk on duty free. I am stretching my skin to slide myself in. Assemble these new parts of me.

The sweetness of trivial concerns. I become a fluff ball over breakfast. There is a safety in familiarity that cannot be found in family. I explain the difference between kith and kin.

Spend the day repeicing myself in the city. Picking fragments of myself off the coats of strangers by. Find comfort in Dalis distortians. All that was is now. There are no boundries anymore

fair well

All that was is becoming memories.

Rising up above the alps, catch my last glimps of snow. I am transfixed. Trying to make this country familiar. Weaving another story into myself. Another language to speak.

Soon these things will become sensible again. I will make be understood by passers by

steam

inhale too quickly.

burn the ciggerette down to your fingers.

tears are just the overflow

from when the system gets too hot.

like a rat in a trap

the sentimental goes mental, the biological loses it's logic.

We are shredding and grating. you do not understand that it is different for me.

I am a product. Shiny rapping. There is rhyme but not reason.

I must go back to my factory, back track the processes that brought me here.

Squeezed for details. Reflect it back on me.

Splash the citrus in my face.

I can't tell you everything that happened between us.

Let me have some of this for myself.

There may not be that much more to savour.

There is less of him these days....

lost and found

There is a number on a screen and it connects you to a person.

There is an intake of air when they answer the phone.

There is a question and an answer. A moments hesitation.

There is a person and then you hang up the phone.