radiant

then there emerges from the cold a day so perfect in breaks your heart each time you walk inside. Awakening from suspension, my skin smells like hope again. Time resumes it normal function. We grow joyful at small things. Abstinence seems so distant. The earth can almost dream of spring.

everything valuable and transient

hours stretch like highways. i draw dotted white lines down the centre. seperate comings from goings.

politics interlaced with ambitions. memory threaded with truth. the day has many corners to roll itself onto. slothful and resplendent as arthritic diamonds, each too lazy to hold the light.

for too long.

i race myself to honesty and back. lose my breath as we round the post. i stayed up all night drinking in the moon and catalouging everything transient and valuable.

i've been trying to wipe your taste from my lips for hours now, but it lingers like clouds across desert skies.

for the low lit sky it sparkles

the day drives me back to bed. I will let this cloud wash over me. Huddled in blankets, watching rain from windows, bearing witness to the slow alchemy of precipitation. When i dream there are only wildflowers, carpets of purple and gold. In this low light everything glistens; the sand mimicing the stars.

interlude

small sighs betray heady memories. The day aches with fantasies of tangled sheets. I search for chasteness under neon lights.

requiem for the sky

the day defies all logic.

grey clouds sweep over the ranges and for a moment i forget my location. my bearings scattered, sattelites swept over with washes of swirling moisture. must the weather always be a metaphor for some other time and place?

i shut myself in with my piles of paper. statistics swing from the cobwebs and play poker with task lists whilst my back is turned. i'm not sure if they're breeding or eloping or fighting or fucking.

i'm not sure of anything when I can't see the sky

i pull myself back to the warm glow of composure
drift back to sensibility again.

celestial bodies

i tie a rope round my waist before free falling. Meditate on summits and escarpments and adrenalin. Chart the movements of shooting stars on the pages of my journal. Burn every tale to light up the sky. Half celestial, half loam, i stretch to make ends meet.

surge

if i could suspend these surges for even a second, i'm not sure if i would. My monsoonal urges slide up against me; melt and electrify me, wake me in the early hours with better things to do than sleep. On heady nights you'll find me hunting them, clad in blankets, brandishing butter knives. Tasting the air for a mix of innocence, desire and fear. My lucidity dances with whiskey. Delerium licks at my heels and caresses my thighs?