Sick Day
in the still working hours, this place sat
in its own plasma hustling its rented
land to no one, silence on crunchy roads mostly up to their
elbows in racket and blaring commotion, people and dogs and metal stirring.
starved hills, stairway carcases, seized up cars. it pined, held its fire
& was itself completely on earth’s shallow face. peace was like
bottomless hunger, a pure sin. ego death during the stilled working hours.
i waited for it, thought we were all healing, the place vulnerable all of
a sudden, or was it waiting to strike. a boot in a face, a
blood smear on the staircase. yet it was occupied all day
raising children on survival, on the claw of reverence. women were
at work inside, blood strong children engaged in nourishment. stomachs
holding heat in a dark sea. there were men inside too, their wilds
rich-deep, cigarette breathe sharp. i held the silence
close waiting for the wilderness to unchain after three. i had met rage,
fury and deficiency with three eyes. left, right and the western. the core
sound was the hypnotising hum of the television
in the distance. then I heard a police siren, and decided
darkness is always at work.
Midnight Mind
a thick darkness deepens as the day sleeps. the street lamps are dim except two. i’m mind blind & time has thinned. an ambulance sings. i am a gargoyle, frozen with faith. the evenings rest is nothing but a decoy. i’m convinced these buildings are made from deaths variety. different styles, assorted colour arranged by blackness. a dark majority. so many endings even before we even arrived. Jinns are alive, stirring in the toilet as the night strengthens. they’re collaborating on disturbance theory, spirit checking each other. all night they pace, threatening takeover and graceful fury. talk radio, moonlight and a broken fence. violent duas at the window. a wrestling sneeze. a standing prayer i make so long my words tremble. the windows weep. i hear yellow banana bubblegum. the corner shop is still open. khalid’s tab is running a marathon for debt. the lights from the car showroom blink at me. casual blasts of goodbye. a fox crashes into the gate. the stars are performing. a moth devotes itself in circles around the street lamp bulb. i feel the pulse of a laugh, a hum, the winds twist. the hours are engaged to ghosts in the gloom. the street speaks in a language I understand. shadows stretch into black, and i’m alone with my breaths concern and this blue skied room, blaming time.