[I’m lost, I am surrounded,
Scary words and scary people.
Send something my way
Like a number one
Or a numero uno.]

How could desire exist in a place like this?
I still can’t believe that this is real.
There’s a kind of sadness that we feel
In Barcelona
In Rekjavic
In Porto
In Oslo
In Nantes.
Grateful for the weather,
Looking like a pair of thieves,
There is a kind of sadness
And it follows me
On a short haul flight to Dublin.
It’s old bones
Memory of bones
Bones that survive:

• the regulated life
• diaspora of thought
• my amethyst mind

There’s a child alone in a room with her very own name for you
Thinks that grief does something scary to a person’s face.
Well,
I was wrecked tired,
Bent up, shapeless,
And the plane establishes itself as the day-to-day
Like a kind of haunting
With all voices along the aisle:
I heard mention of the devil’s mouth
Heard about a cloud on its way from...