a quiet night

haha - that was all 3am failings,
this time round it'll be
a
sure thing minted in kebab
sauce truth, cause you know that's real
not
a
surcease, more the difference between
what's in your wallet
and what you find on a groggy Sunday later
a
how and slap-day why, crashing through
jackets for stubs to suggest how
what
you found makes what you had
and that's; weeping on speed-dial
international jitters
made real through republics
and a thought that he's...
haha -
that was all 3am visions,
turned kneaded baked
and I'm not that way
inclined anymore.

In a city of lights and castles...

Have you -
not this time
Oh. So it's...
Me? No
Not yet
And you're -
Unfortunately
Without him?
We'll see how it goes
So what -
Did he do -
that I don't?
I'm still not sure.
But it's out right?
Mostly
But that's an ancient city...
I know
Sometimes I think,
well, that you shouldn't...
Why do you get to know?
Names, dates, times
I still live in assumptions
a fever that -
how can you still...?
I wish you well
From a distance, when it's rumours
That you can't see yet,
It was never you...

thoughts for a play mostly in my head...

Coming home,
Drowning
The body in the house
The old man
Lemon fights
Show me yours, piss like a dog
Losing dad
The cancer.
The girl down the street
Sarah started the fire.
The woman is her mother.
Tony is her father.
Gevard her grandfather.
Gilgamesh.
They search for immortality.
She’s dead for the whole play.
No one can acknowledge it.
Except at the holiday home, spared the flames. Near the water tank on the farm. The old swimming hole.
A dream place of floating – dark, secret.
A golem lives in there.
He makes a bargain for the girl, a bargain with Tony.
They dance.
The golem drowns. The ritual is complete.
The fire burns animals alive. Gevard remembers.
As Tony cannot.

dealing with a kind of chaos in an indeterminable time

what do you want me to say?

too soon?

dogged

how to say
what not to say
would be
remiss
I don't feel like telling you something that I think
you'll think is designed to hurt
but I've not
choice
I'm trying, you see, to avoid hypocrisy
the diligent use of truth
in the pursuit of right-seeming
beauty
trying to avoid the accusations
I levelled at you
being turned around, in a brighter London
and stencilled
on a furrow on my face
I'm trying to tell the truth
but it's a slippery proposition
and whose truth
and when truth
all disappear in
the worry that I'm about to do
what I begged you not