Bartz Field in the July heat,
pretty girls in their summer dresses
singing songs of Woodstock and American dreams.
My dream lay beneath a sycamore,
motionless in her island of shadow.
I left her there to dream of cold beer
and headed up to Red Hill.
The sun shone with less ferocity up there,
a slight breeze cooling the air,
and from my vantage point,
I could make her out, sleeping gently,
the calm point in the hustle-bustle
of the students playing games
and chatting over cold drinks.

On the horizon, a thunderstorm was brewing,
promising the relief of cool rain
to wash the heat from the city,
for at least an hour or so.
I scanned the city, the McDonald’s
directly across the road from
the Museum of Natural History.
I wonder if there was some irony in that placement,
or sheer luck that made me smile to myself.
The distant brontide of thunder applauded
and I looked back to the sycamore tree.
She was sitting up, looking around,
and when her head turned towards me,
I waved my arms above my head
like I was signalling a helicopter for my rescue.
She didn’t see me and she stood up,
confusion written in her body language.

I stumbled down the trail and when I reached the park,
she was back under the tree,
fingers of one hand wrestling with those on the other.
I called her name and she spun her head around
and leaped off the ground and embraced me,
then chastised me for leaving her
without telling her where I had gone.
I laughed and she laughed
and I kissed her and she kissed me back.
We sat down on the burned-out grass,
her head on my shoulder
and my arm around her waist,
as we watched and waited
for the thunderstorm to wash away
the heat of a glorious day.

The bikers
rolled in through
the fog
and smoke
of the cold midwinter
morning,
the revving of
the engines roared
like monsters hiding
in the darkness
of a momentary
nightmare.

One biker flicked
his *** into a
puddle licked by
frost, a quick death
to the fire
that once burned
so **** bright.
A metaphorical
device for life,
perhaps?
I think I’m too
drunk right now
to bother
with words.

One looked at
me with a sneer as
he rode past,
and I stuck my middle
finger up through
my beard and
licked the tip,
and I winked at him.
He growled a *******
as on he rode
and I laughed at my
joke, but no one laughed
with me.

They passed and all
that remained was
the silence and the smell
of burned metal
and the sweet
odour of petrichor
as the rain died a little,
but I was soaked
and alone, wondering
where the **** my
life went, where
all the friends I had
had gone to.

But I suppose
that’s just the way
it goes sometimes,
once you were on
top of the world,
king of the kings of
Kintore, and the next,
you’re lying in the gutter
staring up at the
stars with the back
of your head in
a puddle as a
*** end floats past.

“Gonna tell me where we’re headed?”
“You’ll know when we get there.”
“Come on, man. You haven’t said a word since we left. You turned up unannounced, told me to follow you, and here I am, following you, once again, and again you won’t tell me ****.”
“You’ll know when we get there.”
“No, I’m not playing your games any more. This is it. Tell me where you’re taking me. Too many times I’ve had to do this, This isn’t your time, just a warning. You know how many times you’ve said that now? Eighteen. I’ve been keeping tally. Honestly, I’ve had enough.”
“This is your time.”
“Finally, a ******* answer. So, what, I’m supposed to be all depressed now? Too late, you’ve been winding me up for months now, teasing me with this ****. Finally I get to spend the rest of eternity not having to look over my shoulder every five minutes waiting for you to turn up and ruin my day. You know, I hope you enjoy yourself, I really do. You need to be a complete ******* to do what you do. Did you ever have a life, or have you done this for all time? I bet you have no idea what it’s like for us, constantly in fear for when you knock on the door. You just saunter about in your flowy robe looking all menacing, but you have no heart or soul, you’re just a puppet the universe had to create to chaperone the creatures that actually have hearts and souls to some afterlife where we do what we already did when we were alive. Honestly, what is the point of you? Why have life then death then life again? What’s the point in that? It’s just job creation with you, isn’t it? Middle management, pointless to a fine point. Ha ha. Death is a job, nothing more.”
“I have no heart, that is true. You have no idea what that feels like. You get to feel, you get to see, you get to experience love and hope and fear and loss. I have none of that, just the words used to describe them. They mean nothing to me. You can make jokes about me, about how unfeeling I am, but you don’t want this, no one does. You’re right, I never had a life. That is my curse, not yours. You get experience. Death keeps you in check, gives you purpose, a finite time to try to force you all to do good in the world. Without me, without even the concept of me, living forever, you would have no deadline in which to do anything. You people think that if you had eternity, you’d learn every musical instrument, teach yourself every language, travel to every country, love countless men and women, but none of you would do that. You would start tomorrow, and when tomorrow comes, you’d start it tomorrow, ad infinitum. An infinity of tomorrows. Nothing would get done, you would sit all day and stare at your TVs and computers, idling away eternity. We are here.”
“A grave. You brought me to a grave? My grave, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“So what now? You want me to lie in it, stare out of that rectangle at my little patch of sky? Wallow in self-pity, start regretting every little ******* detail of my life? I’m not interested in that. Just tell me what I have to do or where to go and I’ll be on my way.”
“You have already been judged, I have been told the outcome.”
“Surprise me.”
“You failed. You spent your life caring only for yourself, without any shred of humanity for your fellow people. At the moment you died, there were seven billion, five hundred and twelve million, seven hundred and twenty three thousand, two hundred and ninety nine other people alive. How many of them did you care about, how many did you think of when you threw away your leftovers, how many of them did you fall in love with, how many did you help?”
“Look, if I’m not happy, how the hell can I make others happy?”
“By being there. You don’t have to be happy to make others happy. Making others smile and laugh will cause you to smile and laugh. It is infectious. To help yourself, you must help others in the process, it just doesn’t work one way. I have been around since the beginning of time and it has happened far too much. You have failed, as so many before you have. This is your punishment. You will stand here forever, unable to move, staring down into your own grave. This is your reminder, this hole in the dirt. This is the culmination of everything you have ever done, every thought you have ever had. This is your life, confined to the darkness of a grave.”
“Wait, this is ****. I don’t want this. No book ever told me it would be like this. Where’s the fire, the torture, the pain? At least I’d be kept busy. There’s nothing here, no feeling, no company. Why must I be alone? Because I was alone in my life? That wasn’t my ******* choice, it was the choice of everyone else. No one took any time to ask me how I was doing. What happens to them, will end up like this?”
“Perhaps, but that is not for me to decide. There is more than one punishment, those who decide on such things have decided this is befitting of the way you lived your life. I must go now. There are many more souls in need of me.”
“Wait! Is there anything I can do? This can’t be it, I have time left, I can do good.”
“That time has passed. There is no time here. I must go now. This is your punishment; your trial has already finished.”
“So I stand here forever?”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
“****. I don’t want this. I’m sorry! Can you hear me? I’m ******* sorry! Give me another chance, please. Just one more chance.”

I went out in search of myself,
and on the road I found you,
your heart slowly fading in the gravel,
your soul disappearing in the night air.
I will rescue you from your darkness.
By dawn I will be home,
rapping gently on your door.

Many miles I’ve trekked alone,
walking weary beneath the stars,
and full moons passed without a smile,
frowning at my furrowed path.
Will you rescue me from my darkness?
By dawn I will be home,
lying softly in the grass.

The road was long and arduous,
but in the pines I found your tracks,
leading me from my borrowed grave,
guiding me to a brand new life.
You will rescue me from my darkness.
By dawn I will be home,
calling out your name again.

The nights were long and cold,
my breath clinging to the frosty air,
frost crunching beneath my feet,
the moon above haloed in ice.
She will guide me from my darkness.
By dawn I will be home,
sleeping soundly in the grass.

So many years have passed so slow,
my legs are lean and my body broken,
but my mind has never lagged,
thinking of you kept me strong.
You have rescued me from my darkness.
By dawn I will be home,
kissing your cheek once more.

I hope you dreamt of me each night,
running scared from what I was,
but you were always in my dreams,
piecing you back together again.
I have rescued you from your darkness.
By dawn I will be home,
running my fingers through your hair.

Almost home I see the lights,
the smoke rising out of the chimney,
you by the window awaiting my return,
heart skipping as I emerge from the forest.
We have rescued each other from our darkness.
By dawn I will be home,
in each other’s arms again.

Her face I see in darkest night,
rising slowly in evening’s silky twilight.
Shining low through high-flying clouds,
burning away love’s labour’s doubts,
and I see you somewhere far away,
this night is mine, yours is day.
This is the same moon lighting my way,
the same breeze caressing my face,
my cheeks red with the chilly night air,
the remnants of a broken nightmare
crunch underfoot and return to the earth.
Tonight’s value is less than its worth.

There is nothing here
but the haunting silence
your absence provides,
the indeterminably
long days the memory
of you offers me.

Shadows of yesterdays
cling to every surface
like the tar of black rain.
Every doubt I ever had
flows down the drains
and blocks every sink.

You are still around,
caught in the folds of
this origami universe.
Sometimes I see you,
peering out of the dark,
looking for a way home.

The wild cats
howl
and mew in
the forest,
and you’re in the
trees dreaming
you’re the tallest.
This is the
sound of your
heart’s love
and affection.
This is the
view from your
soul’s deepest
connection.