K-road ’17

this road, once dangerous
now a childrens’ playground;
its most fearsome inhabitant
a feather torn loose, floating gently to the ground…
only other feathers hear my laughter


Baptism of blood

you come to me
the son of conquerors
a child in my embrace
I cleanse you in my blood
our children are not
the children of conquerors
for we have baptised them
in my blood


all she sees is green…
a life unfurling on the other side
all he sees is red…
two lives risking the signal
all they hear is the disgust of car horns

This space

this absence
holds a shape

you might fit here
this space
seems shaped for you

those sounds
the words
they produce
those things
that come from you

the frequency you emit
the contradictions
that come from your body
betray your shape

every moment
in your presence
seems like a culmination

these things that leave you
require no processing
they are recognised
as memories

though you are a stranger
you might fit here
this space
seems shaped for you

a life spent shaping
this space
—this space
seems to fit you

it makes no sense
it has taken
too long to prepare

it seems too late
far too late

and you will not
always fit

this space