(come on brain, think of things / come on brain, be so smart — lin manuel miranda)

with hollow bones i had been born,
so why their leaden flight?
for others have far heavier borne;
i must be feather-light

in branching paths i loved to wend,
their tangle stuck me fast.
now shorter streets have found their end;
i must be lightning-fast

i write these things to make life rhyme
but cannot see to see
and wonder, wonder, all the time
what must be wrong with me

and they say better late than not,
and better slow than still
while counting anxiously to naught
and asking when i will

i do not know! i do not know!
what little i do ken
is that i go when i can go
and do all that i can

and yet my life in shambles lies
i cannot see to see
with oceans in my tired eyes
what must be wrong with me

hvordan lyder et spørgsmålstegn?
for det er lyden af mig;
dine ikke-eksisterende ord
skærer i min hud som
skarpt papir

disse dage er hårde
og mest af alt
ligner jeg dine beskidte sneaks
der ikke klarede sidste fest

jeg er en juli morgen
du er en mandag morgen
og på en skala fra 1 til 10,
er du leverpostej
og det er så meget jeg forstår dine følelser

men vi er jo bare teenagere,
beskidte sneaks og mandag morgen
uundgåelige og alligevel den bedste kombination
altså på en juli dag

dét er lyden af et spørgsmålstegn,
*hvilken?

i.

I think meetings are like satsumas;
the skin
can peel
off in
tiny pieces,
your fingers will get covered in the juice
and you can spend hours picking off the white stringy bits
and then the fruit will taste sweet and it will be all worth it.

Or it peels off in one easy motion and it’s all full of pips or it’s dry or it’s bitter and that’s like meetings.

Meetings are strange because they can go on forever or they can be over in a minute.

Some people you meet everyday.
Others you meet once and never see them again.
My parents had the second type of meeting.
They met at a bus stop and my mother complained about the weather and my father agreed it was too hot and then he gave her his number and then she called him.
He became her window cleaner.
He moved in.
They lived in the same house.
They never saw each other.

Everything was terrible.
They never met again.
They drew up different lists:
Frankie, Rae, Teagan.
Genevieve, Emily, Jessica.
Somehow it became something else that neither particularly liked and the outside world didn’t much like it either. They locked the doors and I watched from the window.

Why don’t you go out? Don’t go out.

Everything was terrible.
Mother saw it on the TV.
Father saw it through other people’s windows.
But I can seem never break the peel.
It doesn’t come off in one easy motion
and it doesn’t come off in pieces.
It doesn’t come off at all.

But I am the girl from the cobweb;
I am the spider who stopped catching flies.
From the smell of gravy and soapy water to the kebabs and urban fox.

Meetings. Where do I begin?

ii.

Adrian Wren was wondering how many leg bones
it would take to build a wall around his house,
or rather round his old house.
The bones would have to go around the neighbour’s houses too
so he supposed it would take quite a lot of bones to go round all the houses.

He was writing an article about a murderer who kept the leg bones of his victims.
This was not a crucial element.
It was supposed to be about the murderer’s childhood,
in which the murderer was the victim.
The childhood did not answer the question: why leg bones of the victims?
The bones were building up in his head.
How would you glue bones together?
Adrian began typing;
the isolation and loneliness of being a middle child, the least favourite son.
The problem with being the victim.

It was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it.
Why a leg bone? Why not something smaller, that could be hidden?

Adrian wondered if the girl in the red boots thought about things like that. The girl who had knocked on the door of the too small flat to use his shower and borrow a cup.

Her shower,
she said,
kind
        of
            just
                   dripped.

iii.

Sometimes, I tell lies. Or not quite lies. Half truths. For example:
• These shoes belonged to a dead woman.
• Sea cucumbers can use their internal organs as a defence  mechanism.
• My cousin nearly died whilst attempting to eat a match.

I just want to tell something to someone but I don’t always have the real story, so I tell a not quite story. Or ask a not quite question. For example:
• What would life be like if humans had shells?
• Do we have shells?
• What do people living on mountains do with their faeces?

Right now, I’m looking at the flecks on the carpet, trying to find faces. Once, there was a house built above a graveyard and faces appeared on the floor. I wish there were faces on this floor. I wish I lived above a graveyard.

I live on the ground floor, above the bins. It’s interesting to watch what people have to put in the bins.

If only you’d concentrate on something important as much as you concentrate on that window.

But here’s the man from four floors away, putting his ******* in the bin. His clothes frown, his hair frowns, his whole being frowns. Frowns are like creases ironed into clothes, but who is the iron, what are the clothes?


*iv.

Adrian Wren was still trying to solve the riddle.
Most people thought they gave cryptic clues
about themselves but they were actually
just the conventional ones reworded.
This was a real riddle.
It was about her and it wasn’t about her.
It began with a J and ended with an I.
Anything could fit in between.

Jaci? Jessi?

She had a habit of appearing,
maybe at the bottom of the stairs.
Adrian was somehow angry at her,
just for being there,
sitting on the stairs,
picking a spider out of her hair,
walking out then coming back in as
if to test she really knew the code.
He was trying to write up an argument about people
on benefits but the space bar
keptgettingstuckandthewordsgotclumpedtogetherintonewwordsthat­noonehadanysuggestionsfor.

Jenni? Jodi? Juli?

Sometimes, he was certain she was trying to steal something.
Other times, she was one of those strange specimens
who attached themselves to another, because of an accidental look.
Mostly, she was just the girl in the boots without a name.

Jerri? Josi? Jani?*

Adrian found that the riddle hung
                                                             on
                                                             the edge
                                                              of­ the mind,
an itch which wasn’t really too itchy.

There were other things to worry about:
• Work
• Old things reopening
• Work
• Ignoring the phone
• Work
• A knocking at the door.
• Do you mind, if I come in – it’s just there’s this programme on telly and-

v.

Just tell me your name. He didn’t want to play this game.
Only, it was addictive, now he’d got started.
Now, it was a matter of having to know.
I gave you all the clues I’m giving, she grinned.


Joni,
Adrian said finally,
looking back at the screen
of his laptop.

vi.

Joni-Rae.
It was hyphenated because they couldn’t decide,
because they never really met.

Sometimes, people will call me Joan if they hate nicknames and Johnny if they can’t pronounce it.

Joni-Rae, but actually only ever Joni.
Begins with a J and ends in an I.
Does that still count, if I amputated part of it?
His middle name was nearly Ray too.
Adrian Ray Wren. Too many Rs.

I’m still looking for my middle name though. Does it mean I’m missing a bit of my meaning? Is there a bit of me I haven’t met just yet? Can we meet ourselves or only other people?

i.
you are the cruelest person I've ever
met but my heart still beats really
fast whenever I think about 
you. I'm afraid if I touch 
you I'll burst into 
flames again. my 
hands haven't stopped shaking since you
left and I never got to thank you for teaching me the meaning of the word
hurt. I found my 
poems at the bottom of your
garbage can and I still can't 
sleep alone. I 
kissed you a lot, and sometimes, you kissed me
too.  

ii.
your skin rings up memories of moonlight and 
granite, a gaping
desert lying open like
it's as vulnerable as
you when it gets
dark. you have a murderous look in your
eye but you never broke a hair on my
head, you saved every phone log of every time I ever
called you. i heard your last girlfriend got arrested for domestic 
abuse and you never wrote to tell me. did it
hurt you more than 
I could? I hope you found what you were
looking for out there and I hope you never
lose it unless you
want to. 

iii.
something about your
eyes makes me want to know everything about the middle of the
night, I watch you
move and I whimper inside my
head. I haven't touched you in what seems like two whole
lifetimes, if I ever even did at
all. I hope I can again some
day. years later and your music stillI makes my ears
raw. I hope that bullet didn't
hurt too bad, I hope 
it brought you the happy. I'm sorry I never
could. 

iiii.
we are a modern day romeo and juli
et, it took me two 
years to realize how lovely your
lips looked and I'm still wrecking 
barriers, I'm still 
damning christ. my best friend has made it
clear she does not want me as a 
sister. I wish they'd let me
love you because you, you are all I've got
left. I might be the bullet but I will never be the
shooter, I'll take everything on
myself. you are so fragile and i am so 
sorry.

på et øde sted
som ej er kendt af
mange

der brænder to triste hjerter
en tankestreg forbinder dem
men tager ej hinanden til sig

og mørket ligger som et tæppe
varmer triste hjerter
på en kold og blæsende
juli nat

"de mennesker du har mistet
bær' en del af dem i dig
og sørg over
tabet
af dem
for hele dem
betyder noget
for hele dig"

og sorgen var bundet
som en knude
en bristende én
som et for løst bundet snørebånd
og selvom ordene flød fra ligeså triste munde
saltede af fortids minder
var kun stilheden nødvendig
for at forstå
....
at her kunne triste hjerter
mødes
og føle i fællesskab
og alt ville være helt ok

i nattens sidste time
brændte et let kys
på mundvigen

givet i hemmelighed
taget imod med en åbenhed
som hele verden
ville kunne se fra stjernernes
lys i mørket

tankestregen forbandt dem ej
men de åbne sår helede sammen
den nat i en omfavnelse

fra to triste hjerter

Dit navn smager af efterår, og dine læber udstråler sommer
Din glød viser forår, mens dit hår er formet som vinter

Dine øjenvipper mod min kind er august, og dine fingerspidser er februar
Dine fregner er juni og dine øjne er klart oktober

Dine blodårer er marts, men dit hjerte er maj
Din hud er januar, og dit smil er juli og de lidt for tydelige kraveben er da helt sikkert april
Linjerne i dine hænder er september, og de sorte rander om øjnene minder mig om november

og nu forstår du vel, at jeg ikke kan svare på, hvilken af månederne der er min yndlings.

Dik, Pada bagian mana Oktober tidak menyenangkan?
Bukankah ia yang mengantar kita sampai ke ujung toko buku?
Ntah sudah berapa buku fiksi yang kini bergelayut dipuncak pikiran
Padahal ntah apa yang ingin aku ketahui di dalamnya
Mungkin bait?
Barangkali juga sesunggukan senyum kecil-kecil yang dibiarkan lepas
Maka pada bagian mana Oktober tidak menyenangkan, Dik?

_BA (30 JULI 2018)

The hail poured on the grey pavements and Juliette sighed as she looked out her car window, it was a rainy night in Syracuse, although she didn’t mind it as she loved the scent of the dew falling, she was a girl with an eccentric nature living in a world of other humans acting as ghosts.

She drove her small, decent car into the university’s under-ground parking and breathed a sigh of relief as she found a tight, clear opening, she placed her car there and exited to close the door behind her as she felt her skin tingle, there was a presence that was glowing and waiting. Her sixth sense was powerful and never failed her in any way, she turned her head and gasped as blazing scarlet eyes faced her, she whispered in fear, “You must tell me, who are you?” even though she felt as if her skin was frozen while opening her phone’s light to see the strange one before the shining eyes widened and the figure vanished.

It took a while for Juliette to regain her mental composure and balance, she was mystified by what the iridescent pupils wanted from her, although her mind was aware that couldn’t receive her answers for now. Eventually, she straightened her shoulders and walked to the parking elevator to reach the 3rd floor of her college and attend her classes, time passed as she listened half-intently to professors teaching their classes, for Juliette’s mind was too taken by the mystical encounter she went through as the day turned to darker skies and her academic day soon came to a close.

While driving home she listened to her favored jazz CD before her thoughts turned to making a visit to the local bookstore near her house, “It will have to wait till tomorrow”, she thought, “I’m tired after a long day of excessive socialization and I have loads of homework to finish”, she reached her house on James Street and tiredly walked up the stairs to her room.

After finishing all her homework and cleaning her room, she emailed her parents to let them know she was home and typed about her day before resting her head on the desk and sleeping.

In her dream, Juliette stared wistfully into the night sky from a field dreaming of her prince to come, her being, heart, and chest filled with love and seeking to share it with something other than the moon as she heard it's white lunar language, “perhaps he will not be a prince, but a monster” and her eyes fluttered open, she arose and entered her bed, wondering to herself about the meaning of the dream before closing her eyes once more.

The golden sheets of sunlight streamed through the home’s clear glass windows and touched the fair skin of Juliette, her thick, light brown hair was now a tangled mess as she struggled to brush it, her honey-colored eyes gazing into the mirror and seeing a bedraggled girl that need retouching. After an hour passed, she finally was satisfied with her smoother, wavy hair adorned with dark hair clips and a casually chic outfit as she walked out of her home.

Today Juliette was pleased with her course-free day, so she spent it walking from her house to the “Books and Melodies” store, upon entering she smiled in contentment at the beautiful sight of the used books and records, she wandered by the books until her eyes stopped at a certain classic she liked. It was located on a shelf a little bit higher than her short, 5’5" height, so she was required to rise onto her toes to even see it until a hand inhumanly whiter than snow took it, Juliette said with a shy voice “I wanted that book…” until her voice was interrupted by his velvet-voiced introduction, “Hello, my name is Roche” he spoke with full lips curling up into a smirk, “If you need this book, find another copy”, while Julietta could only stare at his rich raven hair, delicately sharp jawline and slender, ruby eyes before she managed a few words, “You can call me Juli”, to which he gently laughed as he leaned down to meet her gaze with his smoldering eyes and placed the book in her hands, “I apologize for my mischievousness, this is the book you desired”,  Julietta felt light headed before she mumbled, “wait, I know those eyes from before, I’ve seen them in a certain parking lot” before he calmly said, “I don’t believe we should continue this conversation” as he vanished into thin air.

Julietta was unsettled, by both his elegance and his sudden disappearance, though she could not do anything more for now, so she paid for her book and left the store, while still being a little emotionally shaken. When she returned home after a long walk, Julietta rested and had a vision of Roche with his perfect features and emotional gaze mesmerizing her senses as they held together in a field of roses.

The dream ended when she awakened from her sleep after hearing a deep-throated snarl and her eyes turned to see a white, inhuman monster with pitch-black eyes in her room ready to attack until Roche appeared into view and ripped the beast’s neck with his teeth, his eyes then blazed and widened after seeing Julietta with a near-tears expression, he walked to her slowly and embraced her, “Juli..” as he held her closely, “I am so sorry that you had to see that” his jaw firmed and continued, “But I promise to always protect you from harm” to which Julietta, with her broken voice, murmured “I will trust you, Roche, but please don’t ever vanish when I need you the most” to which he whispered, “I will never, never again leave your side” and they kissed deeply and profoundly to seal their silent promise to never part.

The seasons passed, and the love of Julietta and Roche grew greater in strength and passion, they made preparations for their marriage until the special day arrived and they celebrated with the families of Juliette and Roche, the specially invited singer was a close friend of Juliette, and he sang his final song for the night:

“The princess of roses says to her prince, "My only, comprehend how there is so much to exist for and relish, I am here in your eyes for our elysium, in the longer hours of this night, let us be lost", the white doves above the dark green trees flew by the pearly clouds as they remained near to each other with their fates untold.