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Cacophony
Shhhh
Listen, in between these seconds
plummeting like raindrops -
May and June 2023 Input
This is slightly late as I've thrown myself back into the world after a halting start to the year. I joined a gym, started going to more things and exploring the new area we live in. I also went to Birmingham and other places around the country a bit more.
Another espresso shot sky commute
I define myself by edges--my skin,
car bonnets- but I am oh so permeable.
Chest matching thumpthumpthump of potholes.
Clemency lies between radio stations,
in the pause before windshield wipers
swish back to starting positions.
Hands tapping morse on the steering wheel,
messages to distant and unseen agents.
My party trick is dissolving into vapour.
Rumble strips and cat's eyes broadcast:
"Forget all you know. Unlearn your old self.
A new world is forming in articulated lorry spray.
Rewild your petty dreams and ambitions."
Infusing clouds reach swirling fingers
to stroke my embossed flesh, damp comfort.
On Threads
By now you would have seen there's a new social network in town. Threads is a Twitter alternative made by Meta[^1] and closely linked with Instagram. I signed up out of curiosity and almost immediately regretted it.
Elsewhere
Between them is a canyon
They sometimes shine torches over the strata
of compressed time, with sweeping, shaking
hands. Eternity is present in their half smiles.
Personal Thoughts on Submissions
I've spent a lot of this year purposely retreating from my typical ways of writing, to try and reinvent my practise. As such I made a conscious decision not to submit to literary journals or competitions this year. While previously I have had some moderate success, I found I was basing too much of my perception of my writing on how it was received.
I love walking in the woods so much Im going to change my name to Forest
Here, under the glitter of a multi-coloured canopy I am finding a new serenity, the peace of lives measured in centuries. I am removed from glaring lights and constant haze, breathing in a million micro-organisms. My pulse no longer has the twitch and shuffle of muffled drum and bass bleeding through the wall from next door, my heartbeat settles to the pace of my slow stride. I have left behind the disarray of the city, exchanged it for the slow drowning of moss. I am stopping walking, gazing up at the branches and the distant sun, falling faster. Recently I have been too much concerned with electrical misfires inside my head, I have forgotten to watch lichen climb a felled trunk. My toes are rooting into the soil. They are sending signals into the mycellium network. It responds with a sustained hum. This long note holds me captive. I breathe out poison, nutrients for the leaves encircling me. We sway in symbiosis. My legs bend together. Merge. Time is syrup. Here is stillness. My pulse is. Slowing. To a beat. per minute. Hour. Days dropping. Dead leaves. Pile. Mulch. Regrow. My skin now. brittle. Wrinkled. Bark. What was. My name? I am. reaching. Arms. Twigs. Arms. Branches. To sky. My smile. Frozen. My blood. sap. I reach. Up. Decades. Collapse. Sky. Branches. Reach. towards. Light. Light. Light. Light.
Omen at Fishponds Junction
Down the central reservation he strode,
unbothered by exhaust fumes or concrete,
face encased in a leather mask.