tonight I wrote.

quarantined

I’ve started saying no to boys
now. because you wouldn’t say yes.

sometimes I use your reasons,

I’m injured, incapable

I would tear this whole world down
and yours,

yours too, and more.

that’s what I say now.

speaking your vowels.

puppetry, mimicry?

a defense system
against loss.

I say no to even myself now,
dismiss myself, and tuck me away.

july fifth [alone smoking pot by myself in the dark]


alone, I’ve learnt to justify my loneliness.

my empty pit stomach ache,

my cold arms.

alone, I’ve learnt that I’m always right,

my consciousness overwhelms my subconscious,

only now allowed out when I sing or write,

when I chase after memories with a shutter
and two hands.


alone, I have all the reasons
to stay behind my curtains, my work.

here I squander what fullness I had for seconds

over typewriter keys;

they tumble in the dark.

alone I know all the reasons not to want you.

and here I can hide away.



cattle.


standing in line waiting for fast food,

a man gazes at me
a few more look at my ass

children are running,
screaming,
hollering out in high pitched
kid-speak.

the lights are bright
the air thick with grease
everyone’s face a sheen.

the signs flash their gaudy advertisements

the line is taking so long to inch forward.

where is service with a smile. they grin.
they all grin.
but its not in their eyes.

and the mothers gather their kids,
but they are comparing toys
everything in primary colours
rudimentary speech.

and I’m dizzy, dizzy.


april 25th.

the cop was wearing a black bulletproof vest

as though she was going to be bearing arms

while exiting the back seat upon angry request

only seconds prior,

having only just said,
would you like to speak to my parents, they are inside,

he now had her in an arm lock,

contorting her
limbs so she fell to her knees
begging.

in pain, in fear. in prayer. begging.

twenty seconds of black out,
lost time,

she wakes up to screaming nurses,

her voice strained foreign tongues,

cunts, let me go.

they had strong hands.
white hallways.

then a lockroom, hospital robes

a needle pricked and injected
an unknown substance

a closed metal door.


burns, scars and other minor wounds.

there’s an empty section of my heart

where you will find him.

held up by two x fours

a rickety frame,

all the pieces stored
8mm footage
beaches
drives
arguments.


I wish someone could come

with a match to burn the whole
thing down,

curtail this infection.

fill me up.


July 5th part. II

I was a fool to think our skies could unite.

oh this isn’t the ballad I would like to write,

rather some tragic overture.

physical space makes a difference,

but how do I get away form you in my head.

how you’ve spoiled me, or I myself,

either way I pine for the faith of the sky

but the faithless find no more connections,

nothing but dark.