Sounds of a first day

The rattle of train
the clip clop and tip tap of footsteps
the smell of cigarette
the scribble of pen the rustle of paper
the living voice of information against
the silence of attention
the scribble of note
the calling of question

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paper birds

Apples rolling on a concrete bridge
And then papers flew like a flock of
birds
in the sky over your homes
blood-red drenched in
the watercolour echoes of an
agitated world
telling you to leave before
it explodes in glitter-dust
and turns the season of
your breath.
Papers, printed with words
of an ancient hate
slicing at their heals
covering their histories
a horrific nostalgia
pasting words upon a past
thick enough to form a cast
hit it again and it wont last
unravelling a heart to hear
the dull of its beat
words flying over a landscape
papers flapping in the sky
telling them to leave or
they would
die.

I think you slipped

And for a moment I saw
the truth beneath your cracks
the shapes you will break into
when you shatter
that fingerprint-corruption
the colour of your smoke
and the shapes it will
make in the wind
-Watch me watch you watch me
watch who
and let us take apart
the jigsaw pieces in the clouds
I think I saw you floating up above
and all around

slow down

if a heart beats really slowly
has it stopped
in the seconds between beats?
am I blind in the blinks between
sight?
what if I painted a picture in my mind?
and when I shut my eyes I opened a sight
and saw a wonderland delight
what if taste was a place called perfect and
sweet was a sound and fall was a state and
fly was an action? what If I broke the boundaries
of letters so that their ink spilt across the page
and made a dull thud thud that followed the rhythm of a pulsing
brain?

was that

the last time I would speak to you?

a tension in your voice because you

are somewhere else

a tear in my eye because i still

feel the phantom pain of your presence

I can’t

stop feeling!

I feel it in the bubble-beat of my heart and

the bottom of my gut

a dull ache that sounds like the inside of a 

submarine at the bottom of the ocean 

 

 

 

 

 

 

it is time

we have followed the threads until the

end of our tapestry

and you have exited in win

 I, in a half-breath half-step

fall

Your sole, I have discovered, is concrete wall

and I feel like the jelly of pins and needles

and crawl

shifting around in and out of awareness

You barely blink 

lost in translation you cannot hear the pain

as I sink

allowing myself to blame you

Until this-

When time struck my face I 

realised truth travelled in wonder

that the veins of my subjective self were merely

gravel-weight, so step on it

don’t be darkpsy let us become 

progressive