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 Dec 2024
matt r
i passed 13 pigeons on my way
to the café. am i corny to hope
someone happened to spread
more breadcrumbs than usual?
crossing under the bridge my
wet shoes left psalms upon the
staircase opposite the pub we
drank in two days ago. we talked
about carol & vivian maier and i
felt the wind. wind like atom fin
-gers wrenched the door open
and ran themselves across the
table up my arms and down my
shirt right through the neck-hole.
wind like knees to a chest, maybe.
good luck on your travels !
 Dec 2024
matt r
some guy. some man to find
his, as the old veteran put it
, "special lady" or something.
we're made of the same old
stuff, you & i. the very cotton
that binds us to our shoes and
our shoes to pavement and
the pavement to the sky. in
-verse the slant on what it
means to know how someone
looks after waking up in the
morning. how you feel when
you realise you've been sleep
-ing on a bed of fries and
burger lettuce. when you
accidentally box their nose
blue. you, some cosmic com
panion you turned out to be.
a digital ode to a very good friend of mine.

— The End —