A piercing, white blizzard had arrived, and everything familiar had all but vanished.
That’s all Joel had noticed in 3 seconds of eye-lash laden observation, shortly before his body yanked him backwards; his deadweight dropping him to a soft land.
It seemed for a while yet, he should remain foetal.
And you walked in
Like you owned not the place
But the place that you’re in
And you sailed through
Like your heart pumped the waves
When the waves needed you
Im not so sure
On these stories told
When you think you know more
And want less
As you grow old
I awoke to two drunks singing
My peace stinging like lost bees sipping honey
I was gonna vent
But alas I had no bucket of shit to fling
As distance intervened by sleepy syringe
Being emptied of any fuss
I dreamt heavy
So unable to navigate with a bus
He didn’t sing naturally to their tune, because they lacked all the right notes as he entered the room.
The traffic rushes by
Like the memories in my head
And the day is upon me
As soft tyres lose their tread
All the roads blur smooth
Like yesterdays future news
And the day is upon me
What rushes is still in cruise
All i know is…
And all you know
is what i show
In the here and now…
I took shape… I was like a dolphin with endorphins… an endolfin maybe,
and all the while, somebody was flying around at ground level;
on a rolled up gym mat.
Yet, the children walked by, never blinking an eye; it was the only thing they could do whilst getting lost in the playfields.
It was then, when i had returned; waist deep in pond water; lifting a sorry flower from the aqua; reminding me of intricate, unfolding origami, it bloomed instantly in my wrinkled palm.
Oh… me and the encompassing crowd,
we barked and clapped like a close knit colony of slow-motioned seals; high on friendship and wonder.
An old cassette tape, when the light catches it handsomely it looks silvered and bronzed like a monument with little dates of significance.
The time is half-past-something or a quarter too, and the day really doesn’t care for its name.
Then I recall Septembers, that this September; the breeze has been as gentle and warm as breath exchanging from lovers in loose conversation.
Randomly, I feel a surge of discomfort within the thought of the inability to appreciate anything, while I continuously slip comfortably into taking average daily life for granted.
Three army helicopters throb, thunderously overhead. They pass in a mini apocalypse parade; for a moment the suburb is drowned with the sound of their rota-blades, the atmosphere feels as if it’s expanding in its protestation.
The air chooses to relax; dropping its noisy luggage, only to float upon its regular self, I notice from beyond my open window, two female voices; unexplainably but noticeably middle-aged, and motherly, using vocabulary that only just resembles my native tongue. I think perhaps that I’ve momentarily forgotten to understand my language.
Since stepping on time; i’ve slid forever. My soles drip with nanoseconds; soaking my shoes of aging leather.