Drifting through a forest,
between the dark leaves &
chasing fleeting insights
cinders drifting into the night,
from a fire now furiously bright.
Stunned, we wait
for the after-image to fade, uncertain
of what to do when
the light leaves us again.
So we wait
until morning, then
press fingers against our eyelids
try to believe the phosphenes are unique;
we open our eyes again to let them
over familiar scenes
does it seem
as if anything
Are all things still
or have they subtly,
The City swells with life
stare at the people & the buildings
& the mundane purpose.
the tide, so an anchor is made:
One must stay busy.
Smoke dances the in rain
by the sickly-white, luminescent light
of the night.
A walk, awake
between night & day, surrounded
by the City, &
always the same shapes:
they’re trying to say something,
these buildings, something
more than their designer or
creators ever intended
I don’t know what it is
any more than they do.
So find nearest breath of green
& living things;
to tilt your head back,
lay down upon the the grass,
& stare at the immense & ancient darkness of
*“Emnacipatory politics must always destroy the appearance of a ‘natural order’, must reveal what is presented as necessay and inevitable to be a mere contigency, just as it must make what was previpusly deemed impossible seem attainable”– Mark Fisher
The city lights always invade the night:
I just want to fuck you in pure moonlight
or beneath a furious storm,
but the city forever prevents me.
I dream of our escape, but first
we must learn how to be caged