(no subject)
so the dreams i have - when i'm closed up, tangled blanketwards and edging
into daylight - they seem real, especially when my brains borders are melded,
kind of liquid though, and the things i don't know morph into things i do, and
i assume all knowledge, accrue its weight, sated, seated on the rocks by
the beach near your old house.
so that means all these beaches join, and my beach is yours. where
i crept around the headland, sticky from the salt, boardshorts and
sun-bleached eyelashes. and there were steps that i'd only taken,
the water wasn't still, but it was undisturbed. and i waded across a
shallow bay, sky glinting, reflected off the azure foam, searching
through hundreds of thousands of smooth stones and broken
pieces of shell.
the sun was setting behind me, over the steep incline. and though i knew
a road was there i couldn't hear the cars. but for the machine stitching on
the polymer fabric, and the remnants of an old speed boat, its cabin torn
apart by years of wind and the ceaseless thud of high-tide...
i wouldn't have thought anyone else had ever breathed here.
and when the mornings are proper still, before the cityrail bleeps echo
across the little suburbia i hide in, before the coughing dogs call their
leitmotifs, as the earliest birds find their nested eggs twitching in springs
third breeze, and the old lady clanks her garbage about,
then i am there twice. post dream, pre day.
and i breathe heavy, and leave calm.
into daylight - they seem real, especially when my brains borders are melded,
kind of liquid though, and the things i don't know morph into things i do, and
i assume all knowledge, accrue its weight, sated, seated on the rocks by
the beach near your old house.
so that means all these beaches join, and my beach is yours. where
i crept around the headland, sticky from the salt, boardshorts and
sun-bleached eyelashes. and there were steps that i'd only taken,
the water wasn't still, but it was undisturbed. and i waded across a
shallow bay, sky glinting, reflected off the azure foam, searching
through hundreds of thousands of smooth stones and broken
pieces of shell.
the sun was setting behind me, over the steep incline. and though i knew
a road was there i couldn't hear the cars. but for the machine stitching on
the polymer fabric, and the remnants of an old speed boat, its cabin torn
apart by years of wind and the ceaseless thud of high-tide...
i wouldn't have thought anyone else had ever breathed here.
and when the mornings are proper still, before the cityrail bleeps echo
across the little suburbia i hide in, before the coughing dogs call their
leitmotifs, as the earliest birds find their nested eggs twitching in springs
third breeze, and the old lady clanks her garbage about,
then i am there twice. post dream, pre day.
and i breathe heavy, and leave calm.