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hills cresting over the cloudswires dangling overhead, bending into crescentsriver, from the corners of two upturned smileshouses by the lakesidemake haste, go crazy. it is day, is it not? this is rural fission.this is no metropolis,yet i miss you deeply.
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you held my hand for the last time and you said you did not understand what it meant what i would give to be loved to stand for you, by youbut who am i to decide for in the end, for the rest of our lives you no longer belong to me
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within yellow wallsyou'd run a hand through my hairmirage of my dreams admist scarlet, weunravelled, bound by free willor so i'd believed the warmth of goldpits itself against city blue,torn away from sun you fall from my armsinto the abyss; i donothing to save you
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signal. static. the spur of transmitters.spanning wavelengths, risking time.(time is what i cannot get.) signal, disrupted through glass.router and copper wire. rubber:the elastic insulator, a shield from our sizzling grief,the attack of electricity. my pain is in the palm of your hand.weakening signals; more than one device in the same room.sizzle, sizzle. sigh of dismay.open circuits, a faulty modem. i sit alone by the wall.connected, says the phone,but sites fail to loadand caches fail to clear.i nearly toss it out the windowin hopes of achieving better wi-fi.illusion asks me to stay, and stay i do,and i wait to dial;i let my ears feed on the metronomes.communication: the prize for mobility.mobility at the price of communication. sizzle, sizzle.static enters your voice.the call is breaking up.
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my lungs bear no witnesswhen i drown myself in the misthands adorned with charcoal, nicotinevoice reduced to wince, like a dogi claw at your receding coat,i beg you drop cigarettes on our sofa,leave them on the floor;the bud and the flower, wiltingextracted from lacrimal sap it is enough, my eyes a stormon a sunny day, enoughto draw backand maybe leave london in shambles clean air, a killerfeed me the closure i fail to wantuntil i decide to sell the house my teeth cloaks shadows around your grave;i bend wires around your nametraffic lights, street signscovered in grit, all of it bring out the exfoliator, the smoke alarm
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rememberthe good days without seatbelts?the house smelling like meadows,our palms cradling the warmth of tea bags.the sun grazing our windshieldwas a great thing.only source of heat from summer slides,or scraping a knee on the ground;the blood escaping was redbut never impure. behind me, an infant wails.
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(i had to saw off my wings) the blurred line between alive and mismade,these fleeting shadows berate;monsters that weave their way into my mouth,claw into my eyes just to reap our tears (and i cannot restrain themwhere you did not restrain me) gold chains and winter jackets, eleventh floora city beneath me where i am stranded;diamonds falling from the sky like promises,sweet nothings that cut through bone (i wished to leave empty-handed) in less than a day i will stareinto your eyes and see the shellof a great maestro;my hands will turninto ice and the wind will blowmy hair out of place (but you will not be there to look) my boots are stained, reeking of petrichorthough you once promisedto dowse them in snow (i know better now, but the hand burns)
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my eyes drip cornflower.i take the showerhead,clutch within my hands the scent of mint,and rinse the residuecluttered about my chest like mice. you sank back into the alleyways.fed liquor through an iv dripi felt the colour leave me;illusion, substanstiated,ghastly touch of a hand removed. the grass fakes a breath.shoes, undo yourselves from the mud;birds, unbind yourselves from that perch;clouds, make way for your sun;do not resist my reckoning.desaturated, yet far moreluminous, i am being, i amhere, i am
free.