Think of the paramedics
As they cling to the wounded
Batting off those angry and confused
By people in uniform
Trying to save a life
Elbows deep in blood
Showering off the days work
Letting go of the one who died on the road
Brain leaking out upon arrival
Taking a deep breath
Deciding what to cook for dinner
Sipping cask wine
Basking in fading light
Celebrating our isolation
After decades of stress
Each day promising
Spontaneity guiding us
A coin flip for North or South
You have aged with the grace
Of a balmy night breeze
Remember that December
We had Christmas
In a forest
No tinsel or gifts
Just a river
Just our skin
Travel with me further
To the edge of life
For I will always be
And the road will
Always be our home
Until the fuel runs out
the full moon
watched by a silent soul
noting the intensity of its glow
wondering if its an eerie coincidence
that it reminds them of the one they loved
who died ten years ago
as if the universe is giving a poetic reminder
to never let the memory fade
they feel it is a significant moment
with the moon a witness to their grief
the full moon
shines on another
doped up and done with the night
sprawled in a park
preying to anybody that would listen
that they will wake up to see the new day
caught up in the high
the moon catches their eye
a reminder of their loneliness
in the great scheme of things
the full moon
it offers itself as a beacon of light
in the literal sense
an icon for romance
and many other metaphors
the audience member
of the world
will listen when we howl
and that is all
Some might say I fell
The word is too quick for what really happened
It was as if a time lapse was taken
Over several months
And I just forgot about the things
That were important to me at fifteen
I’m trying find that place in my brain
That saw possibility
And power in words
Mostly the power it embedded in me
I’m resigned to what I am
Or at least finding that out every day
I tried to meditate, focusing on my breathing,
But my breathing started feeling forced and it became harder to breath.
Than I pictured a lotus flower opening and closing but it started to look like a carnivorous plant, like a cancer.
Then I felt the ground begin to roll beneath me like a ball. Sometimes I would go around with it, otherwise I would just feel it slide on my skin.
The ball took me to a town, showing me a war memorial and then it became my primary school. Teachers were playing tennis in the classrooms. My year one teacher gave me a bear that dissolved into my back.
I was unwillingly stretched to highschool. I was on a conveyor belt that slapped me in the face with briefcases. A cut bled too much like Alice’s tears that filled the whole room. I was drowning in my own blood. The floating was alright.
Then the slide clicked to University, and parties. My smile grew. A moving sun engulfed me and we became a small rotating solar system that burned brightly when closer.
Only ever through a window, have I killed.
I’ve marched through halls making machine gun splatter art.
Crunched skulls underneath thickset leather boots.
Seen the split seconds of horror warp a persons face.
I’ve gone on mad blood frenzies sparked by rage.
Only ever through the gauze of space, have I killed.
Others breach the void.
Make their choice.
If the unconscious had physicality,
Then we’d all be guilty.
A thought is a spark.
An act is a bang.