revised autobiography.
Here we go again. Back into the days with the hot sun and the nights where dry lightning crackles across the sky. Back into a world full of light and pain and brightness that goes straight through your eyes and into the back of your head. Back to a world where you try to forget and drink red wine the colour of blood to help you on your way.
This is the way and this is the siren, the last shot in the dark. We’re bright. Oh so bright. Sometimes the sun seems to shrink and we walk on the cliffs edge or the streets precipice and the world drifts away. We’re transparent and solid, wind crystals and everything else.
This is the way that the world turns and how we learn to grow again. We can rise up and take the earth in our arms and all we need is that last shout, last call and the long horns as we push the edge and rip into a new way, a new light and the space beyond.
That was the car crash. That was the strike-out and the cut-apart. That was the neverender and the half seen shape, suddenly made real.
When lightning hits I watch it crackle above the city. The storm coaxes wind into fingers that lift my collar and rifle through my pockets. When the rain hits I am calm, serene in the storm.
Weeks ago I learnt a truth and since then the world has backed off, greyed out. I’m a phoenix but the flames haven’t hit and who knows, maybe they’re just like the dry lightning, the warm rain, the coping-pain, maybe I won’t feel them at all.
But if I do feel them I’ll know the last shot the bright oh so bright and the bottom of the wine as I drink long and deep and smile as grass blooms and trees stretch out and flocks of birds bring in the storm
and suddenly
everything’s new again
bright
white
and terrible.
My god, it’s full of stars.
This is the way and this is the siren, the last shot in the dark. We’re bright. Oh so bright. Sometimes the sun seems to shrink and we walk on the cliffs edge or the streets precipice and the world drifts away. We’re transparent and solid, wind crystals and everything else.
This is the way that the world turns and how we learn to grow again. We can rise up and take the earth in our arms and all we need is that last shout, last call and the long horns as we push the edge and rip into a new way, a new light and the space beyond.
That was the car crash. That was the strike-out and the cut-apart. That was the neverender and the half seen shape, suddenly made real.
When lightning hits I watch it crackle above the city. The storm coaxes wind into fingers that lift my collar and rifle through my pockets. When the rain hits I am calm, serene in the storm.
Weeks ago I learnt a truth and since then the world has backed off, greyed out. I’m a phoenix but the flames haven’t hit and who knows, maybe they’re just like the dry lightning, the warm rain, the coping-pain, maybe I won’t feel them at all.
But if I do feel them I’ll know the last shot the bright oh so bright and the bottom of the wine as I drink long and deep and smile as grass blooms and trees stretch out and flocks of birds bring in the storm
and suddenly
everything’s new again
bright
white
and terrible.
My god, it’s full of stars.