I have
good
things
for a
little
while
then I
choose
com
-placency

rotate / circle pt. II

crazy --
bathroom cupboard
topside down
inside up-down, out
bottoms off first
feels backwards
rushed
photo-esque
bottom out
bottomless
next door neighbour thinks you're beautiful
is meddling
is jealous
is watching you yogayoga
'cross the road
curtains never shut
windows open like usual, if I could
bury us all
bury this
bury all
burial
running to cunt-mouthed lyrics
dancing to filthy rhythms
running, to dancing
running is not dancing
everything is dancing
"Everything. Is dancing."
dancing, is dancing
running to the world
from the world
the world is running, round
round itself
like a dog chasing its own tail
this planet never stops

"I'm ok with doing bad things sometimes," he said.

I am starting to believe
that there are not good and bad people
only good and bad actions.

circle

I am

the only constant

in my scattered, winding life line

I think I am confused because you feel like a summer thing in the winter time.

CPR

plastic-coated
chest-clicking
antiseptic-smeared
unlegged, unarmed
danger-spied
flesh-eyed
hole-eared
"practice-makes-perfect"
unresponsive/unconscious
tatter-bagg'd
schoolboy-battered
tube-veined
hinge-necked
"for training only"
Dummies

wed 9 - 8 - 12

Slightly second-hand morning pages (I don't know what this means - I'm tired, this morning). On six and a half - the usual, but breaking two goodnights' trend. "You look fresher," she said...

Grey day, outside. Looks like dead-centre winter becoming night time.

I can feel that I am overflowing with one of the first regular attempts at new life. Was it the spinach I ate? Insides trying desperately to escape, flushing themselves out from between my legs. Little bubbles falling out of me. 

Feels like it might rain.

Door-knocking.

Sad glove-bandage curled up in a bed as I arrive back from too-skinny-legged, shorts-wearing, blue-jacketed, power-meter-reading, "have a top day!" Mister.

And a text from Johnny.

More bubbling through the legs.

Get up. Change yourself. Change.

Oh students, new household - why are you so routine?  I don't like being alone. I want to be alone, but with company. Other pulses and bloods flowing through neighbouring brains and exchanging of ideas through the walls.

Curled up like a munchkin under a blanket. Trying to write warm things to be comfortable.

I'm living with someone I've never met. I have slept next door to a stranger. 

Don't act so shocked. 

And now, the other end.

Good morning.

no ballet, just curtains

There is drool all down the left side of my face. My sleep was that good.

No dreams with an alarm - only resent.

Pelvis is tipping involuntarily with full bladder and damp underwear - the bubbling out of me apparently stopped but the night's emptying still sitting there.

I can hear everyone else getting ready for the day. Feel like this is my one chance to be with them, these new busy bodies. GET UP! Haven't seen Mikey in a few days, I should text him saying "Are you alive?!" Words which instantly bring a Blindspott song to my head.

Everyone's heading to Australia for Soundwave. And I say, why? Which instantly brings Tahi's dialogue from Awatea into my head.

No ballet, just curtains. What is going on.

Good morning.

Get up now.

accidental composition

1,000,001 thinkings before we even get set up
before pen hits paper
before blanket sealing head warmth is...
before revolutionary discovery
that angling towards writing hand --
is easier

Found yourself in a poem, did we.
I guess stream of consciousness
has some mild, pre-determined arrangement.

saint kevin's

I just sat in your place, David. I hope this is ok with you. I'm not buying a book but you don't have any to sell. It's ok, I'll just write my own.

Just worried, is all, that my stockings might rip on your unfinished edges. They're my last unholy pair, you see.

I'm next to your friend. He's knocking back and beyond the point of pretending to hide it. "Don't worry," I looked to him. "I'm not condemning it."