There was this almighty dust in the air.
Soured like the scent of judgement.
And some sordid affair is the talk of a highlight
When it suffered deathbed over 30 years ago.
Every spooky night,
And the whispers of dusk in the air.
Cold – it has become.
And every sandblast of a bronzing
To my skintone
As I soak up the last of heat of Summer.
Forgiveness was like a forgotten thought.
Swapped for truths and truth for arid for
Denied.
Otherwise a costly statement to juxtapose.
The normal life we live round’ here.
I never felt quite included and I wasn’t.
Blinded by ambiguity.
And my faulty checks into music stopped.
Paused.
I sighten with fear and all my humble queries.
Drifting in between the darkness and another rotation of the fan.
Every second a joke,
And every minute a new war on gossip.
And all the hives have been full for awhile.
Hex squares and octagonal sight-stares.
I have no scope for this amount of social interaction.
Could’ve visited me if you really cared.
Snuck in, been living here 8 years?
And no one really says a damn thing.
Make yourself pronounced.
And I harshen in every whimper of overdue childhood,
The want to snip at the clips,
And faulter in my tongue
That does not wag but dances in hindsight.
I’ve insulted you in another translated-dialect you don’t speak,
But someone heard coherently.
Congruent fashion and I am left
In stand-back pause.
You do not shuffle the cards, but the new deal
Got fucked raw.
Into oblivion.
Unsightly cancer and I am the one who dares to say onto you –
I know you’ve made mistakes.
I can’t change em and they sure make me blue.
Got too close in a town,
And undercover – how now?
You didn’t keep up with me all those years and I was ordered distance
From you.
You, you, you, and you.
The only ones I would wanna say hi to in a room.
Linger on the shoulder of a drunken night
And every nightmare karaoke seance.
To bring my culture back alive to a Visayan.
And I choose Mulan in Martinique.
Gotta find the white-walker hiding in brim.
And that’s all it is around the back-again.
I grew up with no friends.
Made me stronger.
And all my family drifted into their wild nights
Of fever and sin.
Sow the wild oats.
Overnight, don’t choose to float boats.
Lay. The. Brick.
Why else would a freemason, mason, and maison choose to be around each other?
We built this house.
And I walked away the stranger.
And adopted stranger for all these years to come.
Treat me like a child for 15 – wrong wrong wrong.
Rob the motherfucking grate.
And the cherries were my like carrots for sore losers
And bunnies were once chocolate and got cracked in their plastic
Film-screen box.
No one gave a fuck about your videos.
No one liked my show.
Now it’s cult-fiction.
Now the grandkids of the racists of before,
Love anime.
And lumpia is irish food to me.
They were black before too.
60 years later.
Whether you marched, joined the police force, or chose war.
I chose all those things too.
Freedom is no sense of integrity.
It’s loneliness.
Even when I’m around you.
Empty gazes and whimper in the mirror.
Sight for sore-eyes.
And more thighs was all I found you in,
By the time we started to admit onto caring about each other.
I wish it could’ve been different.
Investigating your family.
Director to- Director.
I wish I could’ve been stationed somewhere else.
I never wanted to think so poorly of you.
That gentle sigh and darkness every time patrol-time is over.
The death of a nuclear-radius as if the soul would sell itself back to the void,
Just to avoid a moment to go to some house.
Have we ever really known home?
I’ve no idea around these parts.
Talking about “living with family.”
You brought me right back to the ever-changing
Reincarnation of an office with a bed.
And instead all I said to you.
Was,
I miss you.
And I’ve seen you everyday for 36 years.
Did I cheat to break the rules?
I bent the will just make sure there was tube
To account the budget
To make time
For a coffee everyday
And a linger and snicker before you’d put out your cigarette before bed.
A different face every 6 hours and I’d find you at the same place every time.
In my blindness, right next to me.
World’s best silent-buddy.
The weaker one.
That’s all that was really left to me after this case.
Told you I didn’t want to take it.
“They need you, Sam.”
And I avoided hostility by no connection and uncanny cynicism.
The people I hate, and I raised myself.
What’s new for Ash?
Smells like it in this September Breeze.
Viking food, hand-spun milkdrink and egg creams.
Quiche Lorraine and Angolan Remolulu Crackers on the way.
I’m trying to show the babes history, I am.
And I guess in the travels with no spots together in town – we
Went every without
Eyes.
Watching.
No rogues, just-on-time.
Glad to see you’re on this project, too.
petrichor - archive 