izzy

this is me
not talking
this is me biting my hands
this is me pretending nothing exists
below my second storey apartment

some days I think I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS
and some days I FEEL NOTHING AT ALL

slap some sense into these walls
they need it
call the carpet on its shit –
you both know what it really is

trying to understand someone is really hard
when you only have the internet
but then you think SHIT, LIKE
technology has moved so much further
than even my arms do when I spin really fast
like IMAGINE
TELEGRAMS DUDE
or letters WHAT ABOUT LETTERS?

this is one of those days I get so excited
I can’t sleep
I can only vibrate
and look wide-eyed through the window
wondering why

our bodies float
why on earth
do our bodies float?

is this some feeble evolutionary response
to the fact I got from a Wikipedia page –
that water covers 71% of the Earth’s surface?

is this a joke?

*

sarah

Come stand right here.
You’ll need a jacket or two
Or three. Or four.
It’s minus ninety degrees in the wind
Which is lower than your brain can think
And even further down than that
You’ll find a lake.
You are standing at the Pole of Cold
(it’s really called that)
And four thousand metres beneath your feet
In the darkest place you can imagine
You could scoop your bone-cold hand
And draw out a sip of water
Kept under this fattening ice
For twenty million years.
The news would be staggering.
Scientists would flood the scene
Ant-like and hurried, fumbling with beakers
Suppressing their hoots
Of ecstatic awe
Making their faces impassive as glaciers
With only their eyes to betray them.
And surrounded by dials and microscopes
You would know what to do.
You would take up your glass
Slip out to the rooftop
And give a toast to the stars
Who were dripping with child-fire
When this water was new.

*