some days hang from a crack in my wall;
a wonky concept of 'clockwise' befalls
my feet as i trawl from one to five
everything feels right until you go left:
i feel more alive post daylight theft

so press me to the concrete 'til i feel thin
spots in time where tomorrow begins
to trim epiphanies from a beehive:
you're honey in the stamen; taste unmade,
just cure to thrive in time, decayed

a low hum like a mouthful
of bees. my love, she sings
like static dives. still, wing
-less and stingless i grab
my net. this apiary is no
home for honey nor sleep.

as i left the cinema pondering loss and trying to tie it to a real anchorable place in the world i walked past a sign that read 'elizabeth banks street' or something. i wondered when it was last given a lick of paint because it was starting to show bare metal around the writing. i forgot about it as i rounded the corner.

the edible i ate before the film grew warm weeds in my bones as i passed a couple on a bench; they'd been there 90 minutes earlier on my way to the cinema. i wondered what they'd chatted about that was worth enduring the cold for. maybe it's like that when you find the one. i thought of the girl at work i have a crush on.

i moved towards the canal and as i counted all the missing cobblestones i danced over the song i was listening to began to swell slowly in my veins. i felt my steps get lighter and wore this unbelievable grin on my face. i thought of the guy i've always wanted to be and how i felt like i was becoming him. i thought of buying a home and owning books and records and how it felt like it was all going to happen. i really felt like i was in exactly the place i was supposed to be at that moment. it was a funny contrast to loss.

my old block of flats sat on the opposite side of the canal a little further down. i slowed a bit and thought of the man i was last year and how proud i am of him. i think i'm a more spiritual man now. i've learned to become a lot more present and appreciate what makes art so beautiful. there's a lived experience reflected in every piece, you see, whether you like it or not. that's what makes art subjective; some people see things they don't want to be reminded of.

so love and growth warmed my leather-laden feet as i turned the final corner into the alleyway opposite my flat. i thought of my new socks and the places they were gonna take me just as i saw a guy hop over a car park fence with a filled bin bag. i wondered if they were his clothes in the bag and if he'd been kicked out by a partner. maybe he'd stolen something. it could be one of a million things but it's another funny contrast to really hoist the moon over my evening. i suppose gain grows from loss like a parasite.