I ask my body ‘what is life?’ it says ‘dance’
because dance is a way the body finds liberation
through lyrics, solace in songs, an overeager mosaic
of marinated moments & coralled colours colliding.
essays | fiction | poetry | photography | art
I ask my body ‘what is life?’ it says ‘dance’
because dance is a way the body finds liberation
through lyrics, solace in songs, an overeager mosaic
of marinated moments & coralled colours colliding.
you slid once more into my dreams
so real i woke and called your name
it was that hour so close to dawn
the world doesn’t know if it’s coming or going
The fluttering ribbon of blue
outside my window deepens
but holds fast to the birches.
My friend the tarot reader repeats,
but she is a little drunk,
translucent fingers unfurling,
while shade, levered by branches,
We toured the backstreets of the old town,
inside the bright cinema of midday sun.
In the plaza, edgy restaurateurs
offered squid ink and pickled meat,
and the households of grand families
competed in a war of bougainvillea.
make it prescient like fried curly hair
and bold image
warhol-bright so your eyes explode
in a glimpse of ba-ba-boom
we keep walking
maybe fearful of touching
in front of others
unable to be completely who we are
two men with love
happily growing older
together
the genre of god
is locksmith and that’s
why neon is always
looking for a sign :
It’s hard being a poet in 2020
Which is when this will be published
If you have the GUTS to publish it
Which I doubt
Being bitter & twisted
I often think of telling you
There is something wrong with time here.
I’m not sure whether I age faster or, quite the contrary –
Once we’re introduced again, I’ll be annoying in my youth.
She’s pulling up weeds from the flowerbed
And then starts feeling one tug back,
Wrapping her water grip and dragging her
Through the claggy earth.
This rockmelon is bloated with guilt
Sweet, near-rancid, on the knife’s edge of festering
Press down and it will oblige