Summer Blues

Woo~

like rain in the summer in the city
mascara running fast
but the girl lookin' pretty

the streets are alive in the dark of the night
the girl's actin' tough like
she'll give you a fight

take her by the waist and whistle a taxi
let's take a backseat down a backstreet
dry your eyes, dear, they're nothing but waxy

~ooh

breaking down on the side of the road
suddenly I feel miles from home
and you laugh at me as I start to stutter

uh-uh, excuse me sir,
what's the smoke coming from
the front of your car?

the radio plays and the engine buckles;
an hour ago, you were hating and raging,
now I can't hear the guy as you chuckle

woosh!

there's a spark and a light in your eyes
a flush in your cheeks
and your hand's on my thigh

I'd push this motor mile after mile
sell my soul to have you home in a flash,
crack open a bottle and a button and a smile

like the sun on your cheeks and the shine in your specs
drinking and spinning, getting closer, then next
to and fro and throw down to have seeee~

~tish,

but we stroll down the lane in the pouring rain
we're tight under dark clouds.
Another cab? Let's grab a train.

She said

I just got in from being out,
drinks, thank you and farewell.
All the remaining pieces gone,
incinerated. Anyway,
it was horrible. And it has
upset me more than I had thought.
It's all over. Finished. Complete.
Everyone is moving forward
and growing up. What happens now?

So, yes, I'm emotional now.
And yes, I went out. Got real drunk.
Got hit on a few dozen times.
All harmless, ego-boosting fun.
And today was the day of the
debacle in my drunken state.
I decided it best to write
pen to paper to explain it.
It seemed a really good idea.

I am not sure what exactly
I want to say to you. Not sure
how I want you to respond, but
we always end up going over
the same shit and feelings.
So here I am, in honesty.
You were my first real boyfriend.
I convinced myself I loved you,
in fact, I loved that you loved me.

You were always kind, generous
and thoughtful and then I struggled
to remember why we were worth
longing hardship. I needed space.
Breaking up with you was the best
thing I have ever done ever.
I have learnt so much about me.
I am great at it all now and
real crazy shit, I've done it all.

Not pining for you far away;
not pining over anyone.
That doesn't mean I regret you.
You were my first. You made me feel
special and safe and loved. But I
don't think I ever truly loved
you, and my second helped me see.
Now I have met him and I think
it was love at first sight, honest.
 
We just clicked. And I don't love him
because he loves me. I love him
because I never want to let
go of him. I am not saying
this to hurt you, I don't want to
hurt. I am just saying the truth
I hope it helps us both move on.
We are old news. This is crazy.
We are both adults. Let's grow up.

Be civil, pleasant, but far,
please stay far, far away from me.
Let's not ruin it anymore.
The memories we have survive
they are special and I don't want
to marr them with fresh crap, fresh you. 
You helped me get here. I'm grateful.
I'm drunk, was this was a bad idea?
But I've done it now. I've explained.

Fight or Flight

You need time to think on it

and I know that I’ve made a mistake

if love is ending this way

when it was supposed to be great but

it just takes and it takes and it takes

and it takes

there’s not much left anyway

so I lie awake and I break and I ache

and I ache.

There’s a timer counting down

I should make an escape

if love keeps ending this way

when it was supposed to be great but

it just ticks and it ticks and it ticks

and it ticks

there’s not much time anyway

so I run late from the hate and I wait

and I wait.

If there’s a chance I could turn round

as if running was my only mistake

if love keeps ending this way

when it was supposed to be great and

we just talk and we talk and we talk

and we talk

there’s not much left to say

so we lie awake and we break ‘cos we made

a mistake.

Do us part

It doesn't mend the crack in the mirror,
when I am split in two down the middle,
it doesn't plaster over the hole in the drywall,
or suture up the edges of my knuckles,
but it is enough.

There is no divine revelation in its wake,
no undying answer to the hole in my chest,
there is no cure waiting for me by it,
nor a purpose for the precious time left,
but it is enough.

I'm bleeding out and calling out for you,
there is no response, save the echo from afar,
in my desperation, I hex this situation,
retreat into the corner of my mind,
but it is enough.

In that quiet moment, you're with me,
we're in the dark, slumped into a corner,
your tourniquet-arms tied about my torso,
we both know it won't kill the bleeding,
but it is enough to dull the pain.

Hourglass

It was morning, yet no sun had risen in the sky. The world was a void. Darkness had layered over darkness and shadows had swallowed the Earth; no fires bled their orange glow, no streetlights flickered on, no iPhones illuminated. It was dark, colourless, dark. To a waking man in London, the world looked asleep.  

At 7 am, the alarm clock rang and Jeremy woke up. He squeezed his eyelids shut and buried his face back into the warm pillow. Then, with a stretched out arm, he felt for the snooze button, but knocked the alarm clock to the floor. It screamed out, impatiently.

 

Jeremy sighed, rolled himself over grumpily and searched for the blaring alarm. He found it, clicked it and killed it. He found himself sitting up, rubbing his eyes - the blasted thing did its job well. He couldn't look around. It was dark, really dark. Pitch black; Jeremy was blind, he thought. Squinting and blinking did nothing; it was pretty freaky. 

Getting up, a little unstable, he cracked his neck and then pulled his shoulder blades back, clicking his spine. Carefully, Jeremy closed his eyes and then reopened them and on the second inspection, the room was nothing. It was not dim, it was nothing. There were no outlines of shapes or shades of grey - just an absolute, terrifying, darkness. It was rather pleasing, Jeremy smiled - an enigma.

The newly dumbfounded state shook Jeremy's heavy eyes awake. 'This is strange', he pondered to himself, staring into the black; he began to calculate. In the darkness, something emerged. Patterns from the nothing, like wisps of snow blown from a mountain peak. A ghost, perchance. A phantom, more likely. No, it was him, Jeremy, only a shadow looking back at him; thinking too. His mind playing tricks on him, but then he thought, 'This is too dark', and his shadow agreed. 

 

There stood there together and decided on some careful, quiet movement. They got to the edge of his bed and leaned down in search for the fallen clock. He pulled at the carpet, his fingers spidered across the floor until his shadow found it and passed it over. The clock didn't illuminate; broken, they figured.

Then, with all their might, Jeremy stood up. Everything felt slightly off balance, the lack of light was disorientating. A hand forward was his sight, his fingers pressed out towards the wall he knew was there and stepped to it, but fell short. He stepped forward again and his knuckles found it. Palm flat against the cold wall, they railed his hand towards where the light switch should be; he traced his fingers across the embossed wallpaper until they grappled the corner of a plastic square. Together, nodding to reassure one another, they flicked the switch. It clacked, but no light appeared.

With bare feet scanning the floor like a blind man's walking stick for yesterday's clothes, Jeremy awkwardly tried to dress. It had been a long time since Jeremy had dressed in total darkness, there had to be a time before, surely. Legs holes and arm holes are hard to tell apart in the dark. Ankles shouldn't go where wrists were intended. He became a knot and toppled, laughing at himself. It began as a guffaw, then a nasal chuckle; then, determination. Jeremy stood, striking his leg through his trousers and pulling them up about his waist. He stood tall, like Superman, chest high and a cape flapping in the breeze.

 

'The bulb is just blown?' he had intended to make a statement. He shrugged and left his room. Cold air snapped at Jeremy, on the landing, there was this great wailing sound, like a hole in an aeroplane - but nothing to see. Quickly, he raced towards the horrendous tempest. Jeremy tripped and stumbled into the window sill, pulling the glass shut. There was a great storm outside, freezing cold and loud like a surging tsunami. 

Above him, in the void, two glaring ghost-eyes painted themselves across Jeremy's mind eye. His shadow flinched. Staring back into the eyes was like staring up at the stars. Both marvellous and terrifying. A dream concrete. His imagination was standing beside him and the deepest corners of his mind out to play about. The eyes growled, its teeth emerged beneath them. Like a mammoth, angry wolf - its face emerged from the darkness. 

Jeremy's shadow shrunk. Squished into a boy. 'We're just alone in the dark', Jeremy hadn't even convinced his pronouns. The wolf's growling grew deep and fierce. In the fury, a word emerged: blind. Blind? Jeremy thought, is that what this is: blindness? He wasn't convinced. While his blind experience was nominal, and really this could be what blind people were all about, he didn't feel blind - despite his utter lack of sight.

'We need light', Jeremy said, 'I agree'.

 

In the kitchen, the floor tiles were ice and Jeremy's toes had forgotten socks. Rolling from toe to heel, never leaving any patch of skin down long enough for the frostbite to settle in. Jeremy crouched down at the sink and fumbled in the cupboard beneath it, he knew there was a torch in there somewhere. Spray cans wobbled, plastic packets scattered and cardboard boxes knocked over. Then, ah! At last, a torch! He clicked it on. Darkness shone out.

 

'Dead', Jeremy said, 'or...' enough was enough, they had to know. Am I blind? he thought, not certain if his shadow knew the answer. He shrugged, the way that shadows do. The low, terrible growl followed into the room. The canine's sharp teeth, giant like table legs, closed in around Jeremy; he stood in the jaws. 

At the back of the stove was a box of matches. Jeremy took it, pulled a match and held the box, still, in his hand. He was shaking a little. Okay, a lot. The shadow stepped forward, 'let me', it was easier that way. It's cold, black hands took the match and the box from Jeremy's numb fingers. It struck a match of perfect flame. The wood hissed a little under the heat. The shadow stood there with a match lit in his hand. A flame? Certainly. Light? Not even moonlight-through-storm-clouds dim.  

 

'Shit, I'm blind', they said. This was the worst possible news and the most boring conclusion. Netflix was an audio book experience from now on. If only that evening on wikipedia learning braille had stuck, too, he'd be a step ahead of the curve. 'Shit', he will never get to see a woman naked, ever again. He'd be terrible at darts, they concluded. Professional golf was out of the question. Formula 1, goodbye. 

Is this how it happens, they thought, you just wake up one morning - no warning - just kaput. Like getting the petrol light flashing up or a hole appearing in your favourite pair of socks. Just like that? Gone. There were no eye-related injuries of late. No mishaps with spoons or experimental contact lens. Why us? He thought, I suppose it could happen to anyone, why not me? Jeremy never took particularly good care of his eyes - he always avoided washing them, never brushed them or filed them. They must have become unruly, like tooth decay. An eye cavity, perhaps. 

He truly, at his core, wasn't sure, but he couldn't Google it, which frustrated him. He should phone his parents, maybe, hi mum, dad - I'm blind now. How's your morning?

Should he call an ambulance? Is this an emergency, could his eyes still be saved?

He rang. The line was cut off - some overflow computer picked up the line and explained that the line was very busy right now and no one could respond. It wittled off some safety advice and what not, Jeremy stopped paying attention. That was odd. He could sue the emergency services, maybe, they should always pick up - he'd seen the adverts, this was definately an accident that wasn't his fault. Maybe work was to blame, or anyone rich really. If you're going to be blind, be blind-rich and blind-drunk for the rest of your days, Jeremy figured. 

Outside was a strange alien world, he didn't have any sunglasses or long walking sticks to hint to others that he was blind, like a fashion statement. So, Jeremy pulled a zombie - arms out, reaching for brains. He got into the character of it, walking down his driveway with his legs stiff and groaning a little, for fun.

You couldn't miss it, like sunlight, a dazzling, blinding star shone down the road. It looked like a star in the same way a huge blurry something looks like anything distant and bright. It was golden and has grains of light, like sand drifting on the wind, coming off it. There were small wisps of yellow thread and silk, flapping off it in the wind. But once Jeremy had laid his eyes on it, and boy it stung and burned out his retina when he did, the world fell quiet - like the storms stopped, the footsteps became silent and all was peaceful.

His shadow? Gone like a squirrel in a nuclear blast radius. 

Jeremy approached the light. Wait. 

Wait, wait, wait, he thought. He sat down on the concrete road, about ten metres from the light. He folded his arms, 'if this is the end', he called out, 'you'll have to drag me, I'm not walking into the light at the end of tunnel'. It was uncomfortable, little rocks were scattered across the road, bits of broken glass too. But Jeremy was as stubborn as he was not blind.  

His eyes adjusted, slow like a donkey pulling a train carriage.

It was an hourglass, tall like a street light and as wide as two cars side-by-side. The glass was absolutely clear, spotless and reflected only the void. It was flawless and perfect. Jeremy didn't know what perfection was, but looking at this, he knew - he could see it. Inside, illuminus, golden sand fell through the centre. It was like all the light in the world, by some divine order had been pressed into this crystalline, crafted glass curve. The top and base were black onyx slabs. 

Jeremy stood and rushed over to it. He felt a compulsion, if it was Death, he would've given his life to be closer to it. The hourglass was warm and Jeremy embraced it. It was joy. He felt the glow shroud him. When he pulled his hand away, he shone too. The heat was smouldering, like forcing your hand into a fire, but it did not burn him. There was no pain. It was a comfortable and pleasant heat. 

In the distance, footsteps approached. Just one set at first, but then two, three, four sets. Suddenly a dozen people, shadows oblitorated, stood about the hourglass. 

'Get back, don't touch it', Jeremy cried out. The people glared over, shielding their eyes from it. 'It will blind you, kill you!' he screamed urgently, flapping his arms as he danced about the hourglass, urging them away. This was his and his alone. It was precious, no one was allowed to ruin it. 

One person from the growing crowd stepped forward, 'that is not right. You can't have it', the words were followed by an echo of grunts and agreements. 'It doesn't belong to you' - 'Yeah!' they growing mass interrupted itself. They surrounded Jeremy and his hourglass like a pack of wolves. The flared their teeth and snarled, circling, stepping inward. 

Jeremy shot at anyone who stepped in, pressing them back. He was light on his feet, he felt the light burning inside him. The crowd stepped at him and snap. They retreated, uneasy. The shining light burned in Jeremy's chest, it spread over his body, he felt it in his loins, he felt it in his toes and the tips of his fingers. 

He felt cold. Jeremy turned and someone had broken from the crowd and laid their hand on the hourglass. They shone. Jeremy was empty and heard the wind picking up. He fell back, repulsed, into the crowd like a wounded litter among the wolves. 

That was it, his moment over. Someone else had it now. They shone, a little brighter than Jeremy did, maybe. There was this foul, sour taste pasted across Jeremy's tongue. He took one final look at the wondrous hourglass. He couldn't help the smile across his face. He could be blind, he shrugged, not much else was worth seeing after that. 

The trek into the darkness was lone and tiresome. Roads and streets turned to field and hills and bogs and forests. Jeremy looked down at the palm of his hand, where he knew it was in the void, it wasn't numb anymore. When he focused and thought back, he could remember that warmth, that light, that dazzling brillance. 

Now he was shadow in shadow again. He looked up and out onto the horizon, miles and miles from the city, he blinked. A small, golden light reflected off his iris.

Ticked & Cross

No new texts. No missed call.
Not a like or a friend request.
No message on my Facebook wall.
No letters forwarded to my address.
No new followers, nor snaps.
No tagged photos or untagged, even.
No DMs, Skypes or Whatsapps.
No e-mails save spam to believe in.
Now I type, then I send and then 
Nothing, I see ✔read, but no reply.

Due but two

Do you hear that howling up at the moon, 
rising of winds from the coming typhoon? 
Don’t smirk in the dark, look at the lagoon 
art work waters up like a lost balloon. 
Drop the spork, we’re eating out of the spoon - 
knee jerk hard work - late in the afternoon. 
Spark! There’s an Arc after whistle and tune 
from stark of a nymph we built our cocoon. 
Pop out the cork, pour me a glass and swoon. 
New bench mark of self sloshing blues commune, 
cars undocking with roads engulfed too soon, 
winter’s bark breaks the roof, no soul immune. 
White shark teeth at the hull, grab the harpoon 
on deck berserk wolves growl at the blue-moon. 

Blue-moon, blue-moon. Two by two. Two by two. 
Bat, Bat, Cat, Cat, Rat, Rat, Gnat, Gnat, slug, slug 
Ewe, Ewe, Cockatoo, Cockatoo, slug, slug! 
No not you, no not you. Stomp, stomp – just two. 

Just two. Just two. My-moon, blue-moon. Just Two. 
Two guppies, two puppies, two germs, two worms, 
Fowls, owls, larks, lynxs, voles, stags, deer, frogs and hogs. 
I suppose birds fly, fish swim and men drown. 

But two, all but two. First me, second you. 

Your moon is far beneath the birthing blue 
a stain on typhoon flaws which paid our due 
from lagoon to lungs from Jew to Hindu 
like a water balloon onto ground crew 
an odd slick spoon we awed without a clue 
until this afternoon when a canoe 
wouldn’t do the tune justice because boo! 
Build a cocoon and keep two, form a queue. 
Don’t swoon or applaud the new bow of hue; 
arrowed our commune. Outlaw by review, 
scale you soon, blue-god, by the blind statue. 
Us two, we’re immune, we will see this through 
with a harpoon in the eye like shampoo. 
I-silver and you in blue-moon, blue-you. 

Blue-you? I wave and so do you, but blue.