come to the edge of the map
take the boulevard pocked by the past
drop off the page
into uncharted
where faces read cyrillic
and sense makes other
and fear pries its fingers 
into what happened
and those lighting candles and
 signing the cross
and coming out backwards
still wear their anoraks:
they might not get home

meanwhile the dogs lie baking in the sun
fat as sausages
turning 
occasionally
at home in today
grinning in what it means to be alive

thirteen years and tasting freedom
roll out dark across the tongue
blow that smoke into forever
through the open bedroom window
through the branches of the tree
through this small town getting smaller
french inhale and taste the freedom
time is mine and
on we ride
towards horizon
and a happy ever after
not yet thought
but on its way
thirteen years and dreaming freedom
blowing smoke into the face of an owl

grey sky won’t crack: can’t risk blue
dirty traffic rumbles on
people move about their days
along the pavement
across the road
off the bus
alone and all together
galaxies of dreams and plans and sadnesses spiral out through every head:
a universe within a universe moving towards a better one
some day
always

today i’m sat here
imperfect
breathing
ok (somewhat) with any of it

words make boxes
fit things inside
nice-neat
manageable
like: how are you
like: i am fine
good small bite size
put on lid
shut up tight and
stack
file under
things i like
or
things i don’t like

soul not happy
soul need wings
say: if you don’t got nothing made of this:
(snorts, stamps hoof, earth yields: hungry for connection)
you don’t got nothing
soul still not happy
gonna come by your place nighttime
ransack your garage
burn down your neat stack boxes
while you sound there sleeping in your little box bed filing dreams away alphabetical:
ok or not ok.
now soul happy
she’s laughing