Friday, April 19, 2013


Photo: Adam Thomas

To breathe
To be here
To breathe
To not fuck it up
To forget everything you ever stood for
To climb down into the well and burn the ladder for light to write by
To pin regrets to your collar
To write backwards so you can read the words on your forehead in the mirror
To throw away the first draft
To throw away every draft that follows
To melt the grains of childhood pain into flawed stained glass windows
To laugh at saints – Ha!
To have nothing you can’t live without
To have nothing
To make jewellery from broken promises
To loose the thread from around your wrist and string your bow with it for remembering
To be the gum tree the cockatoos shake from with a startle, wings beating like thigh slaps, hurrumphing at the wind
To give away small pieces of yourself to strangers, verse by verse until, hopefully, one day there is nothing of you left to give
To make wings from confessions
To refuse to fly
To stand beneath lookouts and swallow the shouts
To sing like an echo
To turn to the person next to you and say ‘tell me a story’. How about after the show, we get a kebab and a chocolate milk and sit on the swings in the park near the Polish Club in the mercurial light of the moon? You will tell me how the whole world once fit in the arc of tanbark around a park. On the merry-go-round you chased storms. Descending the slide was a dive to the bottom of the sea. Because only in the eye of a tornado or the cushioned stillness of ocean depths could you block out the other voices and hear yourself sing. And I will swing and tell you I don’t really like chocolate milk. But I’ll be crying when I do. And I’ll say ‘this has been the most marvelous night of my life. So far.’
To swing
To let go the earth
To feel falling when you know that, somehow, you will be caught
To open like a flower two hours before the sun rises, because you just know today is going to be the brightest of days, a great day for growing
To live up to this
To incandesce with intent
To not let yourself down again
To read poetry like church bells before service and after a wedding
To not let these just be words
To stand for everything you forgot
To fuck it up, better than you ever fucked it up before
To breathe
To be here
To breathe

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