“Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.” – Pablo Neruda
At last, I pull up alongside you.
For once you’ve got no destination.
Finally there are no cars to fold ourselves into.
Divested of traffic, the streets operate only as borders.
Although the Scottish lady at the school crossing, fervent til the end (bless her), still blows her whistle.
As if we were far from here.
As if we could turn the desk around and work on something else.
I think the sky refuses to turn, so I don’t think well.
Some fast days I forget the heart, cannot look it in the face.
Fast days have fast eyes but sometimes not.
Watching remakes of service station, parking lot, fast food as they bounce over the horizon.
But the city is no excuse.
According to a recent study, the weather is now our favourite artform.
Another study showed that given free access to everything, we still seek out the harmful.
Matters of definition.
From one perspective, nothing is invasive.
Just another entrance, just another exit.
Most of us seem so easy to please, but nothing could be further.
Easy to tease, yes.
The audience of a talkshow made up entirely of hermits.
Now I remember what I was going to say, but I can’t remember exactly how I was going to say it, therefore I’m likely to lie.
A digital flower.
I buy a digital flower.
I buy a rare digital flower.
Collecting fires / extreme weather since I can’t collect myself.
Sleep has how many exits?
The sun explodes twenty four seven.
In search of an address.
Sometimes the street is there on the skin.
The little points of water, little marks of light.
Are we glassed in we devise a new form of choosing; some beautiful grey thing?
Put the tears back where you found them.
Tear to the scene, with the widest scratchpad you can get your hands on.