Beating in, out. Stomach rising. To that thud, that drum. Vibrating. Moving. Breaking. Beaming. You.
Away from here. From the daily grey. Give me the blue of the ocean, golden sands, bright white spray. Give me air to breathe.
Silk waters, sun dreaming in vivid hues of blue, yet
on the horizon, waves screaming, rocks crashing,
bitter fret cuts the skies.
In the darkness I wait.
By the phone box I stand.
Shattered glass crunching.
Broken shards bleeding.
You’ll find your way.
Envelopes. Paper. Painted with letters, woven with words. I sit. Scissors in hand. Feel their weight. The solid steel. Lift the first letter from the pile. Place the blades gently around it. Slowly squeeze the handles. Smile at the satisfying snip and slice of cutting paper. That crisp crunch of the blades biting. A metal smile hiding teeth within.
Night walking. Head hazy. The streets warped like an Escher picture. Yet my routefinder kicks in. My feet walk a path they’ve walked too many times before.
Third lamppost on the left, take the snicket Dark and narrow I snag on brambles falling free, skin torn, stinging. Head for the light, the other side. Stumble on loose paving stones down the steps to arrive on your street.
Quiet. Calm. Unchanged.
I sit on the pavement. Hug my knees tight. Here again.
cornflower skies wake
this morning hanging with hope
white clouds gently drift
You are the crack in my pavement,
the fall I didn’t see.
Climb the stairs, close the door. Think no more about things. That big pile of things waiting. It can wait. Slip into time. Time before. Just you, your room. Music on, lights low. Lay on the bed. Stare at the ceiling. That blank space. Listen. Breathe. Hypnotise. Hibernate.
Not large this land, yet it holds a library of stories. A collection to conserve. Dragons and monsters. A first loves kiss. Nature trails, jungle songs. Snake attacks and long faught battles. A whisper in a cold clasped hand. It is everything, this wasteland. Bookmark it. Return. An old favourite.