Randomrandom

I suddenly thought of Jono Tjhia yesterday...in fact, I thought about him recently at Nickiy's house, because I began to write a poem type thing...

"I taught you to cut
cucumbers
in your sun-stunned
Melbourne kitchen
with my arms around
your waist"...

The sky in Europe is so far away, it hurts to look at- the small streak of planes, flit flit between the clouds. And the memory of big skies, close enough to grasp in my sad little fist.
Hazy backlight, crouched beneath the sun.

Sometimes, just one word is enough to make me close the book and be winded by the force of memory. Coles bag, cutting off circulation in my hand; stopped to watch the sunset over the cranes.

And Berlin:
"In soaring rooms above neon skies
We smoked pre-Christmas Camel lights
in gaudy hotel bathrooms"

I'm wintoning again. I can't seem to decide what I'm feeling.

It ended in Oxford

Shall we continue in mime?
You said
Shall we continue at all?

- between dough balls and dessert
At pizza express
We verbalized the rubber-soled
Sneaking indifference
That had crept up on us
And snatched fistfuls of happy
From out of our bubble.

Time and distance
Wrapped in oxidized cliché
Without argument, or proper breakage
The unexplained and unsolvable:
We nearly missed dessert altogether.

There was the verdigris
On our recent days,
The creeping moss and all those
Sentences:
Now to remain unfinished.

What began with imaginary superheroes
And shepherd’s pie
Gay piano players and
Dead daffodils
Is now a memory
Following looping tear tracks
Splashed over tiramisu.