Frownies

Same thing today,

as leaves grow in May,

In light I

reflect

pain,

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I’m sorry

It’s hard to look back. I now realise near midnight recollecting the face you never showed me it to engrossed in Instagrams glare. I’m bleary, deciding to Mobb Deep, not podcast as an familiar unknown middle age white lady stares me down. I must be occupying her place. She’s unaware of my staff badge, my shirt and tie hidden by my threatening winter coat.

You two couldn’t be farther apart, together on the crampt carriage East. Your trousers yawn a permanent gape, exposing what I hope are sports shorts. You hair has a crispy sheen, unevenly wetted locks and relaxed tufts taming what was never wild.

But your neighbour’s a combed coiffed quiff, an Essex swirl, the kinda pompous pompadour you see in cafe’s, fairly highly priced for a coffee ceded in an unfair trade. He’s out the window, with eyes following all absent from us; must be nice; while my nearing obnoxious eye never see yours, still fixed in your iPhone glow. To him we’ve all melted away, as if his dream pursues the tram. On mass we unperturbed by the black buzz cut grandma no one offered a seat.

I’m drawn back to you with a fond aversion. I lament the shirt that’s a bit yellow from Thursday’s turn, pristine Nike hoody, Blazer latticed with scratches and from stints as a goal post, black Air Force school shoes matching the hood and skin. Sir Attenborough taught me when you’re bottom you’re barely surviving.

My eye lingers on, saving data, living outside. You grin, your head lifted and drifting to the side. You touch his arm and he looks at your iPhone, you both look, laugh, look again, laugh again. He looks back out the window and you back to your glow. I’m sorry.

What’s Different About Today

Nothing, it’s all a social construction. Nilhism comes second. I’m tired, Barnes says I’m fed up, but I’m not. I’m just lonely, lonely with a home. Home is where the criticism is. Through ether and Ash. I escape twice. I say I won’t… when my home is my own… I say… criticsm is infectious. That may be my addiction, I asked my best friend if I was a good bad friend, to improve… Ensuite anxious regret. I’ve justified paranoia. I’m right!

But I degress from the day, today. I find myself on my way. An unconscious decision aroused from a fuck it & go and an arriving tram.

…Today?

It is.

It just

is.

Thought

I suppose it’s inevitable

like the earth pulling sky towards you.   Dissent,
in pursuit of ascension.
Anguish laden dew lingering post impact.
Uneasy, our shoulders nervous -as an Atlas shifting his load.

Our mind the centre of elusive effort
Settled sedentary memories recalling leisure’s illegal occupation,
Ethereal abuse from figures existing in the moments between unfocused blinks.

Though with the swipe of keys and the addition of words
the sky’s smokey hue trembles a forgiving azur.
The opened hand allowing the clearing of stale air

Drugs 

That’s the thing about drugs, 

They seep to your core 

a reflection of failure – the image obscure in smoke. 

I enjoy the plastered amusement. The transient pleasure exhaled in a silent  destructive whisper.

It’s all the same,  it just fizzed with a velvet stroke. 

My lungs swell     exhaling   a putrid air. 

Tonglen, perhaps,  a reversal of states. 

I’ve years yet to die. 

But I wonder if these years between freedom and cold expulsion draw nearer. 

I’m the same as the year before 

My inspiration stands unperturbed by the hanging tranquil haze. 

Can this be what it’s become?

I know it’s not.

LVE

It’s been  while since we’ve spoke, 

I wonder…  because if stigmatised truth or dearth of substance. 

I feel it’s the subject, it turned an obscure ombre.

A minds regard of the quiet clandestine workings of a wandering eye. 

And a relative conscious. 

I read love poems of devotions and pure affection. They too like the gloss movies, a reality away from the compromises and warmth of daily love. 

In fiction it vanquishes all, but I see it beaten by jealousy, pettiness and self pity.

A sacred pantomime we all dance to, I’ve found mine but still I wonder.