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the Sandman Jun 2016
I don't know if I should be
Ceaselessly hopeful
That I am understood
Or ecstatic
That I can finally understand you.
You, without me, outside me,
Much larger than life, and me,
Before me, far from me, unlike me,
Are magnificent,
Sweaty sweet,
Systematic and
Making a difference to the universe.
While I sit here,
Waiting for the world
To make a difference to me,
Making excuses that everything I'm thinking
Has been thought already.
This is an account of my reflections on first looking into Mikhail Bakhtin.
the Sandman May 2016
I wait with you at bus stops
And down lonely roads that
Lie vacant, with watchful shops,
And one lone star follows the cars
Until they meet at the moon.
Flashes of light and laces of dark
Ribbon my face
And the split ends of your hair
Leaning down from the sky
Kick it every time I gaze
Orange spotlight dims from tall lamps
That stutter my dream sequence
Filled to the (brim) with
Sprouting teeth and gaps
Gaping at us.
Our friends follow us
In slow-mo
And I only miss you when
The road is running straight up
To the moon;
I'm afraid of the climb, but
Can't wait for the drop.
It follows.
My fillings have come out.
the Sandman May 2016
It is 1:20 am
And I am at 7%
And I have only one bar of signal
And my screen tells me
                              I'm 93% done with 'us;'
                              You have drained each per cent of my patience.
                              I'm getting mixed signals
                              From the language of your body,
                              And very few at that.
                              But I take a chance on us,
                              Another chance,
                              At this hour of lateness,
                              Maybe we can rebound and re-bond
                              And not just reminisce.
                              I reckon we could
the Sandman Apr 2016
You told me
(As I laughed at you for
Your draining phone memory)
That you have 7,936 images
Because you photograph everything
You fear losing.
                            I can't help but notice
                            In all our 2,190 days
                            You never took a photo of me,
                           ­ I suppose there isn't room
                            In your memory
                            For me.
March 31, 2016.
the Sandman Apr 2016
                         in light,
                In blinding light:
Lights on cars; and buildings;
and lit up trees lining lit up streets;
             Houses with sills all lined in gold
And diamond; silver glitter glued onto mould;
Street lamps; and laser pointers; and
Towers; neon lights dotted with flowers
Of plastic sun; hoardings and billboards,
With bright teeth and skin and red words
Everywhere you turn,
Telling you what you want
And never knew you wanted;
Shop windows; chandeliers;
Presents for that time of year;
Cell phone pylons with twinkling,
Bright lights on top, like Christmas trees;
Christmas trees, with stars and angels
Speckled, Frosted,
Dusted on the tops;
Disgusting glare on sunglasses,
And a smiting gaze along the arms;
Bridges and fountains with gold poured on;
Platinum bands in every size, laying all forlorn;
Bedside lamps; and taxis; and taxi stands;
Every window, but the ones
Being jumped off of;
TVs and refrigerators, opened
Thoughtlessly at night;
Screens shooting onto impassive glass
That used to be faces;
Cameras, going off in quick succession,
Quicker than you can keep up;
I'm drowning.
We are taught desire, in light,
We learn to read in light
and scarlet letters of fluorescence
We are blind,
Now that the road is paved for us,
To the light that was before.
Goodbye, jungle of pylons and scrapers of the sky. I will live among your shards no longer.

My first list poem (that actually remained a list poem by the time I was done with it)
the Sandman Apr 2016
Love’s rising tide, from
Rest to rest; your moon-obsessed
Gleam rolled, on ripples
the Sandman Apr 2016
Lack-luster, in dull
Clusters, tall pylons reign with
Gods that look like you.
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