Reflected

Humble Deaths

I've taken these cells and muscles

tensing and releasing in great shifting strides

over windblown scapes and pitted roads.

Me,

a creature of bone and shadows

crushing glass and small things as I go.

Grasping tight

smiling stupidly at the bite of cold air on my skin

and the tears whipping from my eyelashes.

I feel like I'm running out of time.

No matter how fast the wheels are spinning.

I know how things slowly disassemble on the pavement.

--especially when it rains,

and the roadside fills with all the exhibits of our fortunes.

I know the stubborn divide and multiply,

and the quiet retreat.

And while we carry on,

a million humble deaths are happening in private,

left behind and washed away.

My friend

Come now, come.
The words will find themselves outside.

Come now,
Step out and remember.

It wasn't long ago you walked like this
bare feet on the path.
You've been here before.
Look around,
can you feel
the same?

Go on, throw a punch.
It might feel good
to clench your feet and teeth
and then
release.

Come on now,
step forward and forget.

I've held a thousand joints
and you were there to see it.
I've caught a thousand embraces
and I saw you watching.
I've seen the sky in a million permutations
of cloud, and light and water,
and you were lying there beside me,
looking up,
weren't you.
I've climbed a thousand steps,
wood, stone and sand.
Sometimes there are birds,
and sometimes it rains.

Think about it.
You've studied a million faces,
and there's a million more
in photographs you saved.

Lift yourself up and step out and forget.
It's like, we never even met.
I promise.

Climb

I've climbed so high.

*

Crawling up over great
blocks
of straw.
The city falling away below.

I was wearing sunglasses
so dark
they killed the glare
but blackened the rooftops too.
All I could see
was the sun in the sky.

So beautiful.

The straw feels solid
packed like bales of hay
clenched so tight I won't fall.
I jump a bit
just to see,
but then stop.

Nothing moves.

I look down and
for a moment I can't breathe.
Really
I'm scared of heights.
REALLY.

Things are slipping
out of my pockets -
spare change,
a nailclipper
and a packet of chewing gum.

I sit and watch my stuff
bounce away.
It takes a long time,
bits of straw knocked free
floating
slowly downward.
Some float up too.

The sunlight smiles all over everything
glinting off treetops in the distance.

*

I've come so high,
and I can feel the warmth on my shoulders.
It feels good, so
I keep climbing.

No Booze for Street Smokers

Tonight I feel good. I'm sitting at the bar, smoking a cigarette and trying not to look sleazy as I glance at the girl behind the bar. It's easy to look sleazy. I'm drinking whisky.

I was up early to see a polluted sort of mist slowly rise up off the buildings. I walked a random route through alleyways paved with cracked concrete stones with flower shapes cut out of them. I noticed ants everywhere, so many types, some an extraordinarily beautiful shade of green. I needed to piss, and went in a dirty little black stream. A little boy was pissing on the other side of the stream. He was wearing thongs, and his piss was going all over them. He wasn't concentrating, because he was staring so hard at me.

When I walked past a woman selling fish I thought I'd buy one. She was old, but her skin was stretched neatly over her face, and you could tell she was peaceful inside. I knew what she was saying, but not from the wavering words coming out of her mouth. I could tell by the way she was grinning at me that she was teasing me for being all alone in this city, buying my own fish from her, far far away from home.

As I was walking away, the fish hanging from a loop of wire in my hand which was threaded through the place its gills used to be, I realised that I didn't have a stove or a kitchen or any way to make this fish into food, so when I got back I gave it to the guy who worked at my hotel - he didn't want it, but by then I didn't want it either so I just left it hanging on a nail in front of the builidng. I came back ten minutes later, after brushing my teeth, and it was gone.

Now I'm wondering whether it would be dirty to try to chat up this girl. She's beautiful. Naturally so. There's no-one watching anyway.

Outside, I guess there are still people sitting on pieces of newspaper smoking cheap cigarettes - much cheaper than the Malboros i'm smoking - and laughing at people going past. One of them is a guy I gave money to on my way in. I hope he got himself a nice new pack of cigarettes with it, becuase people on the streets can't drink alcohol here. Poor bastards.

I'm pretty uncomfortable thinking about those guys just about fifteen metres away on the street. I just order another whisky, and sit there sipping on it, smoking and trying to think of something to say to this girl.

Lazy

The heat of a thousand soups is warming this island. It's cool and quiet in my room, but I can feel the heat crashing in heavy waves on the walls. I lie back and put my hands under my head, watching the fan swing lazily, dragging a cobweb behind it.

I think about going outside. But I'm still very tired. And the thought of all those people sweating and rushing around in that sticky air makes me uneasy. I don't know a single one of them. Where do I start?

Nature Calls

I slept in my sleeping bag, on the floor in the middle of my room, and it took on new dimensions. I felt like I was seeing it for what it really was: a little box of wood, brick and plaster, every inch of which I have travelled countless times, unthinking.

I'm leaving now.

Ach, this sensless fear born of routine... I'll leave the Veronia on the sill for you.


Perhaps I'll write. I like the idea that my words will travel without me, in the holds of rusted old ships and passing through the tired hands of postal workers the world over before they get to you. Okay, nature calls, haha. Bye.