Sunday, 12 August 2012

August Kills With Wandering Thoughts

The sun through Rachel's doorway, the heat.
The stairs that live here, the plants either side the stairs.
The days of half-open curtains, thankful for sun, praying for shade.
This almost became a piece about photosynthesis,
almost became a poem about homes away from home,
a poem about the inertia of comfort, like 9 years old,
notching yourself into the corner between arm-rung
and seat on a merri-go-round, feeling the spin
paste you to your spot as you watch the swings become a blur,
but the keyboard on top of the amp, sitting by the door,
the growing pile of my own books, the knowledge of coming rain,
the good nights with bad tv shows, beamed directly here,
this almost became a poem about a relationship, gorgeous
with stir fry breakfasts, adventures to suburbs and accommodations,
but poems about relationships without the benefit of hindsight
or confirmation of jewelry. . . well, there is iced coffee coming
and this weather makes hard thinking into exhaustion.

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