A memory, lurching,
Red, black, red, black, red.
A kiss.
The table turns,
spinning,
black, red, black,
Spiralling inward,
The crushing gravity
fate, out of our hands.
Red, all bets are off,
Unlucky for some,
I find I’m at the heart of the implosion.
Black, whiskey, smoke.
Red, blood,
black.
and I almost cried
at the sound
of the storm
picturing
history
listening
searching for cover
craving
delineation
the dark
(from) outside
(from) my arms
(from) the things
that creep in-
to the empty
places
next to me
a spray of gravel
and flash of green
amidst a clutch
of
gutted trees
a sombre stretch of soot
and some crumbling
roadside
memorial
a dream of something
over (still)
now back again
and how those black clouds
settle in
the same spots
that they've always been
the roadmaps etched
into your skin
the rain
a million
tiny
burials
Thanks! We actually collaborated once, I used to be the mighty pillow but I decided I wanted to move towards visual art a bit more we did a poem called tainting the share. Always a pleasure to read your writing