people look so silly under the spell
of friday's grooving radio hum:
they trip and fall over miles of tiles
when gin tins leave their shoes untied;
its showtime under the ambergreen lights!

seven o'clock and motor breath
turns to head-seeking missiles, i duck
under a stop where frostbite seeks
to hide its fingers in my socks
"i'm not ready to end!"

"it hasn't yet begun!"
seven twenty and here's my bus!
a giant metal knight with wiper swords
and a two-door parting shield
... i check if my feet have healed

engines ruminate over their revolutions
and rumble and grumble on deaf ears
cautionary tales of last week's anteeks...
but not all roads lead to rome, fortunately,
some lead to queen's square

...my toes are warm now

dear you

it'll probably take this a long long time to reach you but isn't that just the idea? nothing is consistent here - moments bend & weave so it feels like each blink takes a lifetime. yesterday a thought took four months to form and i almost used it without thinking.

i'm stretched out on the grass now & i'd love to explain how anyone meets anyone at all. is love some long blue thread bringing them together? i've seen what people do with it - sure they make it into something pretty but it isn't what it's there for. are we wrong to see the long beams of light and only take a photo? is a lick of heat for more than making a cup of tea?

i tried to explain a concept like us to a bumblebee but i didn't really get anywhere. i said "wouldn't you like something like a portal? you could be at the next flower before you know it." i said portal instead of a wormhole because i knew bees didn't understand physics but he buzzed off anyway. i suppose the fun might be in the looking & finding but i've been given flowers before & it sure as hell meant more than picking one myself. maybe he was just happy with what he'd already found.

now i see magpies everywhere but they can't all be you right? i've always thought they were but maybe i'm just too ******* in my long blue thread. i suppose that's human though - i've just always valued the idea of tying something tangible to a concept that isn't really bound by atoms. the idea that this is all meant to be you know?

if you look hard enough you'll see them everywhere. they stick with you like the bluegreen shadow of the sun. sometimes all it takes is one & the thought that everything has to mean something. that's it though - i guess if it were real then you'd be here by now. maybe if you wait long enough you'll miss your chance. maybe if i look long enough a magpie is just a magpie.

p.s.

on the walk here i crossed a bridge - it wasn't celestial or anything but it was high enough off the ground to wonder if i stepped off how much of a joke i could get out my mouth before i hit the clouds. i couldn't really shake that feeling of bending & weaving after that. funny isn't it.

write soon

recall the petrichor of
the porcelain rain, breathe
& let it ring down your
spine. one day you will

be more okay than you're
ever going to be. sleep
then, between the china,
and dream of bluebells.

i think of your back

& mine, like the in
                              side
ofaspoon

oh yours!

not quite so concave
                             but
a soft&flexing blade

regaled with silver.

then stand      off
your heel ball & kiss
her you fool.    don't
be                don't be

don't just be             .

grab a rib; cage me
     in ur prison; cells divide  
                   to hide; away from you.

the hot-fingered taunt
of a name picked up my
stomach in its safe
hands; knucklecracked, they boot
-ed it down the corridor...

do you remember
the sweetgrass scent?
i rolled from there down
the stairs of patience
to here, blind fear,

where clocks tick
an arpeggio of angel
texts; numbers repeating
until they desync -
your 11:12s. 13s. 14s.

there's no more walking
in polyrhythms; there's no
slide to Her. i have my own
two hot fingers and some
paper i will tear like hell.

seconds drag; their limbs
line the hallways while we sleep:
yesterday's awake

the living in shoes

make us all so
thoughtful&bright

make us see
god in the wall
under footfall of

tenebrescence

light stamping
its pinhole feet

is god is
our god &
my god too.

luck is the duck astride the tide;
the flow between the day and night

sink or drink the musk of dusk-
you wait on luck to save your husk

last night i wrote 'luck is the duck'.
i think i was wrong though;
see, 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒅𝒆. it folds up the socks
of the beach and blesses it with a kiss.

we, the duck, ebb and flow on
the waves; eyes glazed and dazed
from kismet riptides. you can't sail
luck, but you can sure as hell surf it.

i'll see ya on the beach.