All these voices
hangs an inch above
the space between us is heavy with the idea of your head nestled in the crook of my neck
Bodies host civil brawls, hidden at the back of pubs, bickering
As livers argue with hearts
And ceramic ashtrays overflow onto dampened wooden tables
And drunken songs on swings become mournful ballads to the babies in the sky
I hold onto little comforts like boys with marbles in the school playground,
Like mothers with fresh-lunged babies in houses permeated by cigarette smoke,
Since the skies turned to washboards with holes where the stars once were
Ambulances daily carry me in pieces, stopping always at gas stations
Where the paramedics top up on petrol only after they get their lottery tickets,
like trying to do a rubix cube in a mosh pit
thoughts pinballing from one corner of the mind to another,
each time with more momentum, marbles unleashed all over the floor slipping and sliding and colliding
each time my internal hot-air balloon deflates some more
tangled up in what if’s instead of why not’s.
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