You can't say they're an imperfection,
unless you criticise the whole invention.

The park gates keep the tangled
strands of street and brick away
from nature's pristine, geometric ways.

Grandiose, perhaps, with all the stone
and ironwork - why do we need a clear
divide? Is it pride? Should we marvel

at how far we've come from our earliest moments in primordial ****? Or perhaps
beneath the steely geese, dark water hides

a deeper fear - the knowledge we can never
tame the beast inside that bares its teeth.
We'll never know; the park gates close.

My habits are recognisable in
  the other me
  younger me
  still toothy me.
But they're not yet habits, they're just
  experiences
  or experiments
  expectations, perhaps.
Slowly passing one round finger
through a candle's flame -
a flicker, but no real heat.
Suddenly it isn't
  a first chord
  first love
  or first drink;
all those vampires we once invited,
they don't forget which thresholds
they can and cannot cross -
now they come and go
as they please.
Can't we?

In the end, it took us almost thirty hours
to hitchhike from Utrecht. The raw night
air of Dresden hung inside us; smarting
where the autobahn had spat us out and
left us brooding under concrete skies.

We'd stood apart, this close to surrender,
when the silver cavalry arrived;

  Mein baby ist der schönste kinderen!
  Jawohl! Jawohl! Der schönste kinderen!

Jakob with his one cassette. Once proud
child begat another. On we raced. Gloria,
backseat hiking sister, now slept against
a pram.

The rolling streetlights crept up Jakob's
shades like rockets, lauched into the sky.

Du weißt? I did not. I held the tiny photo
of his child and watched the wild roadside.
I willed the darkness stay outside. ******
built the autobahn. Gut für Panzer. Du
weißt? We crossed into Poland, greeted
by the broken lines of garden gnomes;
tinker, tailor...

Stopping off for sausages - du magst? I did.
The dawn smelt red above the hills. I lay
my palms upon the dashboard, felt the
purring engine breathe. I smuggled angst
enough for all tomorrow's sorrows; I hid
it in the narrowest of breeze.

camaraderie - much too
grand a word, of course
for the heady unity we'd caught
against our parents
against our school
nonchalantly - against them all
raging round our haughty town
dressing up by dressing down
our Capulets and Montagues
were Trendies versus Casuals
but mostly we were tiny shells
trapped in our semirural hell
united we could stand it best
while hatching in an empty nest

do not whisper in the wind
as your voice will be forgotten

if you see others turn to stone
don't assume you'll share their fears

when you're first alone with love
choose the simplest words to tell them

and the sadness that you carry
shows you're living
shows you're breathing

the living room
the loving room
the shouting, crying, fighting room
the place we hear through the wall
the space we sink in when we fall
the comedy and tragedy
the squished up sofa family
the supine solo majesty
the all fours cursing lost remote
the idle channel flipping without hope
the picture hanging on the wall
the one we never really see at all
the bashful shuffle up before
the first kiss (first of many more)
the room that's mostly just for sitting
the room that's nothing without living