Month: April 2018

I was waiting for the bus
Counting out my money
And a copper wheel rolled out of my hand
And landed with a ping
On the pavement
I was about to pick it up
But left it
Knowing someone might need a little luck

“It’s like the light in you has gone out”
I nod through tears
Maybe it will come back
When i watch Les Miserables
For the 17th time
Or when the lava lamp finally settles
Or when i find that all the towels in the house
Are completely dry
Maybe just
When the marmalade gets sticky
Enough for me to remain conscious.

She told me to write about potatoes:
her voice dripped
from rain clouds.

I honestly couldn’t describe us better.

small knives
in keen hands

and ashy hair from the fire.

glowing faces from beyond

I say to the blonde on my right
the goblin blinks numbly
and continues to scribble
her biro turning the white paper
black

when all there is fades
she steers me by the shoulders
to a world shrouded by sunflowers

all is ink and petrol:
gas stations producing pure marzipan
to satisfy the goblins
that gnaw at undeserved apologies

For Ruby, who I promised I’d write about. She’s a nicer goblin than you might think.

don’t hold your breath for this
make chlorine your home
as the tsunami of us
rushes over

i will still wait for you
when the light blue cracks in your ceiling
blacken and screech

i am the ink in a pen that is broken
i am visible
and disregarded

don’t wait up for me
what difference will it make?

I cycled alongside the cars
as the sky turned to water
The deep
dark kind, where headlights
block out the monsters

I stopped my bike
and got out my phone, to write for you
My pink hands tapping
at the glowing screen

The streetlamps to my right
turned the world upside down
and venomous orange

I had never written for you before
I didn’t think I could

But as the water above me began to crack
I knew that your grin was my trump card

You smile
and I know your blue lips would taste of raspberry slushies
and sneaked licks of lollipops.
We dance together on shaved ice,
performing our own
pas de deux
where I end up on the floor a lot
and you laugh with me as my knees get wet,
then slip
into the the crowd of uncanny faces
who wonder
why this girl would sit
alone and shiver,
but smile.

We bathe in moonlight
And pack away our whispers that we already regret
Wanting to say them louder
Or maybe not at all.
You take me to the shop
That smells of burning sugar
And almonds
And the secrets drip from my tongue
Like syrup
The fluorescent eyes winking
As we sway.

I’m trying to write a poem about you
but all I can think of
is the song that you showed me.
The one that you want me to sing for you.

I am stuck on you
like chewing gum
under those desks we talk to.
Scribbling down lyrics on the wood
from songs that weren’t made for us
but fit
like I know my hand would in yours.

My voice may not have sung for you yet
but my heart is an entire orchestra.

“Try not to breathe,
Each breath kills a polar bear!
Don’t fear, you can save them,
Oh yes! You can!
Just $5 a month
So give us a call!
Please help them.
Please help us.
Please help-”

-unplug-
maybe it’s time to.
Switch on again
when we’re trapped in a heatstorm
and the only rainfall left
is acid dropping from the clouds.

Switch on.
-plug in-
Comfortable?
There are no more adverts at least.
The polar bears aren’t here
To laugh at the gods
Who kept them captive
W i l t i n g down
To their polished feet
For the selfishness of $5.