6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)

(1)

i can’t explain
i just wanted to cry
and you wanted a cigarette.
go then
that’s when tears started
it gave me shivers
my whole body moved
to riot
revolt
revolution
we laugh because they are funny.
right?

(2)

later. the river looks so dark
and full.
leaping a little far into
distraction
from the rain
we talk about floods.
as the red light curls
with the gold
you’ve never seen it from this side.

(3)

only the water seems shiny
everything else has lost its luster
better when it wasn’t legal
better when it was free

(4)

i told you already that it was shit
i told you already that it was fine

(5)

once we’ve reached queen st
just on feet.
we close our eyes to the blaze
white light
right. this is a shopping mall
sliver woman with no vagina
advertises handbags
(i know cause i checked)
(you know cause i told you)
do the lights turn off?
do the manikins ever see the dark?
are they always bathed in white light
and does that make them angels
who is light like this for
at 3 in the morning.

(6)

at the last bar, they serve me
Gordon’s
but you’re the only one complaining.
we drank Tanqueray when it wasn’t legal
we’ve got better tastes
i know.
i know.

6:30 – 12:10 the next day (or, a punk prayer)

enough seen

on the train i look at my reflection briefly
try to ascertain the moment when my iris stops
but i can’t.
people all look at me
and i can’t
when all the carriage doors are open
facing forward and say
i cannot tell when i am turning.
because you see it happen elsewhere first.
sometimes i can’t breathe, but
i see it elsewhere first
they watch me
and i can’t

enough seen