One Hundred and Six.

16/4/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

I dreamt that we lived in the Bronx
to be honest, I don’t know much about it
but that’s where my brain thought we were

in our shoebox apartment, your beard was getting long
we grew herbs in a box hanging from the windowsill
you brewed coffee and I brewed beer

I wore bright clothes and we made breakfast every meal
and our bed took up most of the apartment –
the rest was orange crockery, dessert spoons and empty wine bottles.

I remember this poet saying once
that she still thought, that she’d always think,
the best poem she ever wrote was a simple note
that said ‘I love you I love you I love you I love you’
and all I can think is that words fail, words fail, words fail

I wrote you the beginning of a letter 3 times over.
the best one started with:
Dear ,
I love you.
Even though those words never seem like enough
like they can’t contain what I mean,
can’t contain me,
it still feels like a revelation every time I say it.

I would make the whole internet my love poem to you
every video of a cat or a kid falling over
every sliver of binary code twisting through fibre optic cables
every porn site and pirate bay and spam email

because this can be kind of hard to decipher
but I think you know what I mean
most of the time

I dreamt 3 lifetimes in 3 days
and I would live them all again.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Ten sounds that are awful:

1. Coffee mugs rolling into each other in the back of a car.
2. Sheets of Styrofoam sliding up a wooden staircase.
3. Biting into the grit on some poorly washed spinach.
4. The screech of tyres braking too fast, just before the crash.
5. Breathing in during an asthma attack.
6. A door that’s grown too big for its frame, scraping on the floor.
7. Dogs in pain.
8. Sneakers on linoleum.
9. A bug gnawing away deep inside a mattress.
10. A guitar string straining in the second before it snaps.

*

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