Camus drinks Hot Chocolate
Friday 12 March 2010
Wednesday 10 March 2010
A DREAM – 05/03/10
I held a slither of my brothers face,
stroking left cheek.
his eye still staring
the lids holding us in.
dismembered.
he had sent himself.
humans at war with the rainbows,
i never understand.
dispatched to translucency in
a place they call home
as we watch the rise
of an absent shade,
the sky indescribable,
a flash-pan of startling intrusions.
smoke rippling
where bodies explode
due to gun fire impact from below.
arching towards the right,
over a dragons shoulder
i see the ripple...
"that was him"
have you ever lived without a doubt?
neither had i, but this new light was real.
squidge between fingertips
what, how and when do i reveal
his death to my sister?
patience, problems, the waiting game.
perhaps mother first?
a tricky procedure to endure
with the tear process restricting my grip on the words,
tendents freeze.
contacts disable.
horror.
my mobile phone is out of credit.
stroking left cheek.
his eye still staring
the lids holding us in.
dismembered.
he had sent himself.
humans at war with the rainbows,
i never understand.
dispatched to translucency in
a place they call home
as we watch the rise
of an absent shade,
the sky indescribable,
a flash-pan of startling intrusions.
smoke rippling
where bodies explode
due to gun fire impact from below.
arching towards the right,
over a dragons shoulder
i see the ripple...
"that was him"
have you ever lived without a doubt?
neither had i, but this new light was real.
squidge between fingertips
what, how and when do i reveal
his death to my sister?
patience, problems, the waiting game.
perhaps mother first?
a tricky procedure to endure
with the tear process restricting my grip on the words,
tendents freeze.
contacts disable.
horror.
my mobile phone is out of credit.
Tuesday 9 March 2010
17/02/10
On the walk home I imagine life with a drivers license in my pocket next to the key of a signified 'home'. It is at a point where the hill steers left I picture packing your words into the door panels and sellotaping what you said under the seats. But my capabilities are provisional, so all I can do is play over the conversation into a dictaphone and stop, rewind.
And play.
Stop and rewind.
Play.
Did I get up and leave?
Why?
It's what she said when we recognized who stood in the portrait photograph hanging at the bar.
And play.
Stop and rewind.
Play.
Did I get up and leave?
Why?
It's what she said when we recognized who stood in the portrait photograph hanging at the bar.
Sunday 7 March 2010
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