MELT:

London bound, melt in heat, think cool thoughts.

(K)

FIVE QUID WINGS:

If I could work through the evenings & nights I would.
The heat is too much for me, slows me up, smothers thoughts
in treacle sludge. City streets smell tired as I try not
to sweat clinging to the shade to remain sane. When the sun
goes down I come alive, perhaps I’m turning?

Listening to Fire! Orchestra ‘Enter’

(K)

EMPTY BOX:

‘Number seven’ is a box of nothing marking the entrance
to the garden of remembrance of the boys that went & never
returned & that first faltering kiss. The earth tilted in a
love cartoon as she reeled me in to her halo of blonde, a fog
of perfume, booze & cigarettes. She was the best looking girl
in school, I was a mug to think she was only interested in me.
I got a few months of that Princely sensation ’til the night
I saw her on the arm of the bruiser with the big dog.

(K)

DAY, HOT, STICKY, CRUISING, LATE:

Uptown with Mr Mojo amidst the mid day lap top cubicles
of the Social.

(K)

INSIDE OUT:

Been driving so long I’m connected to this car,
the darkness, punctuated by streets lights,
Reading tail lights to forecast the imminent
future, blinded by headlights in mirrors.
Radio surfing fast between stations, crack a
window for a slap in the face, swigging water
from a bottle one handed in the rain, singing
to the rhythm of wiper blades.

(K)

SANCTUARY:

Windows wide on a hot night, drifting off to the healing sounds
of happy voices drinking gently under pergolas of tiny lights.

(K)

RECOVERY:

Back in the sanctuary of Essex, the wheat crop turned golden
whispers at night beneath our wide open windows as I lie awake.
The sky explodes, electric pink & yellow, bruised & medical,
smells of hospitals & power stations, crackles with a chemical
fizz, dumping bullish gobs of warm rain. I’m turned
inside-out, recovering from intense sleep deprivation, three
days of cigar smoke & recycled air.
Flying with two hung-over posh girls, talking plummy trash
about the fabulous damage they’ve committed on themselves.
Their cute playing with a toy town wound makes me flinch,
their naïvety around the dark side so sweet. They look & smell
bad, but I feel worse, built from reconstituted fragments of
historical hang-overs I barely hold together & no one has a clue.
I want to shower the pain off my skin, flush the system as the
inside of my numb head twists & contorts to face in the wrong
direction. I’m dogged by hallucinations, jerked in-&-out of
violent sleep, strapped into a world of sharp & cavorting shapes
that laugh & taunt & cut. But today is peaceful, simple, listening
to the rain & the whisper of the corn.

(K)

SPECIAL THANKS TO:

Good people, beautiful country, homeward journey.

(K)

WHEN YOU WERE SOUND CHECKING:

News of another air disaster reaches paradise. Open mouthed at
the loss of yet more innocents. The dust, the heat, the sun,
on stage at the edge of the sea. Palm trees, swim-wear dancers
wave & smile. We pass bottled water, fresh tea, throat coat
& coffee, exchanging pleasantries & greetings with old friends.
Police pose for photographs, sheltering from the heat, truck
drivers shake our hands in the sanctuary of air conditioned
production offices fashioned from shipping containers. Lights
are programmed, sound system tweaked, new additions to the set
re-visited & run through. Gentle people going about their work
in fierce summer heat, everyone keeping their cool as we leave
feeling good about tonight. The news of this catastrophe,
the news, the news, the news, the families & friends of nearly
300.

(K)

SKIPPED THE COUNTRY:

There was a crisp bronze light at 5:30am, black shadow detail
beneath the concrete overhang of a multi-story across the road.
I peeled back the nets, pointed my phone, stabbed the screen
with a stupefied finger until the soul of another brutal
masterpiece was ensnared. Showering couldn’t stop the shakes,
neither could the ten quid tea & croissant as I sat alone in a
sea of white linen, shielding my eyes from the glare off the
cutlery. The beauty of a night in an airport hotel is the ease
of stumble from bed to check-in, where I imagined I was normal
& smiled at the stern lady in uniform.
“May I take ‘both’ bags on?”, smiling costs nothing, gains
everything. She even fast-tracked me up the side-chute, away from
the dazed herd, giving me time to turn a stumble into a graceful
fall, strip off my bits, slip through the metal detector & stock up
on water & mints.
The in-flight croissant was squashed around a thin slab of ‘yellow’,
a sad thing, reminiscent of cheese. Violent sweet orange liquid
in a plastic tub, accompanied by leaden muesli, salvaged by the
second hit of tea,
“Black, no sugar please”
“Enjoy”, said the tiny paper cup
“I’ll try”, I grunted.

(K)