Consequence

The consummation of
                    sorrow & regret
of impulse & blind intent,
the attempt
            to escape
makes the mistake
of believing that things we leave behind
will somehow change
or else disappear completely
when finally we
                        return:

the
    gentle susurration
of bad-faith held
to itself & nothing else,
excuses
running too thin;

the hideous birth
                of conjoined twins,
who want only to be loved,
& are as beautiful
as they are ugly,
                            just like us.

Difference or Repetition

Drifting through a forest,
                lost
between the dark leaves &
frost-encrusted moss,
chasing fleeting insights
                like
cinders drifting into the night,
from a fire now furiously bright.

Stunned, we wait
for the after-image to fade, uncertain
& afraid
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;
when
we open our eyes again to let them
                    linger
over familiar scenes

does it seem
as if anything

has changed?

Are all things still

                    the same,
or have they subtly,
briefly
            changed?

All of this is temporary*

The City swells with life
& you,
                        insignificant,
stare at the people & the buildings
& the mundane purpose.
Overwhelmed by
the tide, so an anchor is made:

One must stay busy.

Smoke dances the in rain
                        framed
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

                        the sky…

*“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

Escape

For S

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
                                together.