Thursday, 2 September 2010


Lately I have been ignoring linebreaks. I don't have any particular defence or reason for that but I've never really been sure where the line between poetry and prose actually is, and sticking everything in one paragraph is easier anyway.
This is mostly a mashup of a few ideas that'd been floating around for a while and decided to get born messily (I spilled some coffee on the page) on a train to Wales.

You could be tracing lines in the dust caked on the inside of a years-old deep city window, eye following your finger then out through smudged glimpses into a cheap sun and your skin breathing “wind” you shrug loose your nettling terror step wide and out and never glancing back know the image of yourself filtered through smudged dust like blinking; still walking come to the bridge, stare into the river engorged with snowmelt and in that moment of wind and skin you see the world by homeopathy, the eternal memory of water murmuring and how the water in the river beneath you cascading unlocked from frozen was once in your blood sealed to bursting with life, was once still on a Mexican hilltop reflecting the meteor burning like a trapped ant and hurtling, and the memory of water murmured to you so you knew the meteor was in your blood, the fire of it plated iridium and hurtling and you could be looking out at the ghost of extinction, kisses from space, all of it through dusted glimpses squinting, you could be staring in interruptions through the tired glass, you could be still sweating fire, you could be watching your gravity shake loose the earth, you could be smoke.

1 comment:

  1. you can't sweat fire; the sweat would put out the flames.