Monday 19 February 2018

excavation

living like we do on this precipice
of disaster, a wavering truce
with the forces to keep our
cores intact, we start the day a little broken

but there’s all this goodness in it,
in your vulnerability and mine
this weekend and this season
this reality of fragile pieces
            you sleeping next to me
            sighing
            in dream

also, it’s the season to cut people off
no one’s disposable but also
there’s too much toxic
            in the communication
            channels
            she says she’ll write to me in one week. It’s not
            a permanent severing. there’s just only so much energy
            I can give (she’s a taker)
            (or maybe I am)
            (maybe I shouldn’t
            put people
            into categories)

after the sun sets I bide my time
before undertaking the epic rewiring
my brain rolls out untethered
and I flick through its draws
and there’s me, aged 5
locked in the bathroom, internal
compass spinning out of whack

I think what I’m trying to get at
is the way we keep going
or something. waxing lyrical,
seb calls it my trippers logic
but I think
do whatever you can
to find the beauty in it
just do whatever

you can

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