Teabag afternoon

All in almond,
ceiling crumbs land on your cheek
 
A soft glance up
and a quick step to the right
 
His vacant chair is found
the jacket, you quietly touch
 
Grinning with peppermint mischief
slip away to the park.

You, Me, Next Week

Below me, beyond clouds
a four-day morning
we’ll sleep
and we will wake

Those hours, I’ll be humming
my toes on the edge
the blanket
the mist out the window

Your profile
a Roman myth
soft as you hand me the mug
smile like a grey, soft sky

To open and breathe
black, hot, bitter
the music pours out like wine
and you,

You
resonate on my tongue.

Six o’clock and I’m sitting upright


April 1st April 4th April 7th, 18th, 25th
blank upper-space A4
Pound, occupation: Modernist, why?

3 hours for self-improvement 101
it’s all you could find
looking at the clock to write the numbers on your hand
from the get up, the get go:
information leak 0.25, 0.5, 0.75

praxis, parallelograms, politically, philologically
fixated frustrated frowns –
Forward it through, friend.
Friend?
For what, for life? for coffee?

you’ll have to wait, then
this won’t be finished until oh, Your application has been received, tick
? Yes, oh, yes, uh
skinny flat white no sugar please
$3.40, $3.80, $3….
and what are they, those slices of – could you tell me -? Never mind

Running late, meet me on the corner
behind building 9 no building 10 no
Skip that, today is rehearsal week 5
1.2.8.

Wait,
I
missed it

Strings

I SEE IT AS BEING AT

THE BOTTOM OF A WELL

WITH MY HAND HOLDING

ONE STRING

TO PULL MY BODY,

WEIGHED DOWN BY POOLS

OF THOUGHT,

UP TO THE CLARITY

OF THE LOGICAL CONVERSATION

YOU MIGHT HAVE

OVER A PLEASANT COFFEE DATE

BOTH SECRETLY STRUGGLING

TO MAINTAIN

YOUR INVISIBLE COATS

OF ENGAGEMENT

OR MAYBE IT IS ME

MAYBE IT IS ONLY ME

FEELING THE BENCH

SLIPPING OVER BENEATH ME

AND THE WALLS

CAVING IN

BEHIND ME

SO I SLOWLY TURN THE VOLUME DOWN

AND DOWN AND DOWN AND DOWN

UNTIL

ALL I CAN HEAR

ARE THE CLOUDS