there there

itch

im a peak and a trough.
come to nothing
brighter
old little flat cap
smile
silky sludge
euphoric dream
bag full of seeds and lime green
city speaking
talk about increasing
mark the letter with my name
at home
at war
left the place i was before
left the chinese takeaways
left the chinese burn
old little man
taking a turn
take my ears, not my words
you dont care for those.

neon

when.
like a vicious thorn spiked into my town. disguised as a bearer of goodwill descended into settlement. trauma unravelled, they never got over it, didnt want to. moved to tears when, after many cancellations, they appeared like a tart in pink tights, out from the dark. i thought they wouldnt show. you'd been at it for a while i could see, and now it was my turn to listen. . when. i started to see through. suddenly they've all joined in, im an old lady with problems, didnt see the signs.
we went through an evening where it all came out... and then the disappointment. that spikey smile should have been a warning, i sat up at night pouring with no where to run. dress up for the world, god knows its pathetic. my people have gone, to roost. to chirp, to wail. im looking at them sat there, small skull spouting cynically. older, they didnt see the signs. now they can clean till squeaky, rest til rested or watch the sunrise. a beautiful view selfishly savoured, seldom shared. a bowl full of guavas scenting the room reminds me of something else. reminds me of a girl. told me of a warning and i listened, signs neon in my mind.

its our river

we dared to walk out alone, before we got blistered. it was pretty dead out there, the skin was turning a bit black. yet one soul appeared and tailed down the road, in the dirt. intention unclear, and threatening... he eventually flaked off. plastic piles crusted anciently, a small dirty girl led a horse up and down, screaming hello at us as we went past. she was happy to see us. it was our river but they took it away. we were blatant tourists beaming in bright colours, in a place that was born out of a desert. a place where ladies were poured in gowns, fabrics that never seemed to swelter them. a place where men were the almighty, but they behave like the pigs they cant eat. we made it to a safe place, safe enough for chips and coke. the great river was framed in glass, lined by top hotels and business class, savoured for the elite. its fish supplies have dwindled from hundreds to tens, its almost dry. but still boys swim there on really hot days, people bath in deeper africa and it deems one part of the continent luscious, fertile, life giving. it was their civilisation on that earth, with one invasion too many and intelligent souls shipped away. only the proles remained, and so they spawned for generations. we can see the results today, and a terrible attitude. smog so chemical and thick, but still smells of charred spiced animal flesh prevail. it is part of me, and it was lost in the genes. now i know where to find it.

its been a long long long time

from the sky

even though you know what you know
stones from the sky.

full speed

it will be catastrophic. maybe beautiful. it will happen, to us. summers aint what they were, back in a childhood idealic apple tree. death can be ignored. a strong green tea. a strong tree with a branch for my hanging. it will be slow and long. it swings.