Monday, February 16, 2009


________Dropped lines trawl
______our veins for a colour -

____blue, the blue of blue
______skies to collect
______our thoughts in as the first

____planets clock in,
______and the Bay, that salt mouthful
______of the sea's unsounded
______yawns and takes up
______our story.

________David Malouf, The Catch

the purr of the tires, yes,
those distant lights behind me, similar ones straight ahead,
all around irreparable colours,
those satellites i'll never recover, yes yes

who are these memories that in softest silences
speak softest words?
(and now such a soft silence it is almost perfect)

(across the table she finally smiles, i'm staring at her eyes because, yes,
that's where you find it, and holds both hands together in front of her face,
i look down to my tea)

and the tires turn so fast so fast:
i drive too quickly in slow cars, and live a fast life slowly,

decant myself from one body into another, reformulate shapes,
and eye-colours, and i'm soo pleased with yes and yes and yes,

(and everything is a yes)

and the slowest music is soo slow it's just single notes held afloat in air, hung like ornaments
i can almost reach out and touch

(she shakes her head a little while i, still looking down at my tea tease her again,
and she yelps like a hiccup she didn't expect me to say that, and her eyes grow browner)

the purr of the fan that twirls warm air around my room, and rubs my skin like invisible hands
(yes i'd prefer the hands)

and in a final silence i take silent solace.

and i sleep every night without dreams.
(and have never been soo happy)

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