Revisionists of the warm country

 Down the university steps to one of the main avenues
Not many people spoke my language here
A voice in my head repeated that the climate here was hot
It was my father's voice

it's so hot, it cooks, people believed funny things
From different places false stories about the past
People Noticed me I noticed the other people
Each so different so unique

The wide streets
Calm young adult students
With their back packs and suitcases
The temperature just reaching twenty five

The parking inspector in a world of his own
Navigating narrow spaces between cars
Telling himself false stories about the past
The man in the newspaper stall

Looking out to the passers by
Also telling himself false stories of the past
None the wiser to the true nature of the world
For that never paid the bills

On your way to estrangement

 Ronald drove the two young women to the restaurant
There was a windshield a sense of movement
A sense that one day they'd arrive
And if things weren't awkward already Ronald thought

She said
When I look at you I see that you don't love yourself
The other woman turned shocked at what her friend had said
The van flicked a stone to its chasis groaned at a gear change

Ronald slightly red faced replied
The world asks so much and there's only so much I can give
So it looks like I never measure up, like i'm not good enough
Would it be better if I loved myself too much

The woman turned using her hair like a curtain
Closing it all off in one movement
Like she had recieved the wrong christmas gift
Her friend copied her awkwardly too late

And nothing about the situation was pleasant
Not the bounce of the seat
The sharp nasty brakes
Or the prickly silence

Despite the real truth
That Ronald had been looking forward to this
For two long restless weeks hither
The only concession was

The drives uncomfortable nature made 20 minutes seem like 2 hours

They pulled into the restaurant and Ronald pretend not to notice them 
Ignoring him like they did in school

consuming upward

 There's open blue infront
It doesn't oppose 
What hangs down
surrounds brings me in

Doesn't resist
Just gives up
Soft as marshmallows
Never threatened

A tone of blue that answer questions
to make me feel as if I float
It's friday like a long sweet hug
I am to devour the sky

One long meal to satiate 
A long bliss in blue
Overwhelming tranquility

Hidden sorcery

 Noone sees it
It's not real for their eyes.
It doesn't seem true, it seems a lie
Fiction painted into pavement like a shrine

A hat and a mut sorcery disguised
shrugging off the harsh sunshine
That energy living in the tree trunks 
and ground's hard lumps

Yes indeed a fiction yet one that persists
More than what anyone believes exists
Only deep wonder that pools invisibly over a city
Not tangible embedded into street lichen

uneven shady and gritty

The only real you

 Compare each one
How they fit in the box
Desire memetic
subtle envy

Unknowing of your own wants 
Of your own under the layer whims
Borrowing off others sense
From the collective

Offer the world what the world is
Simply trace over lines
follow directions
The only real you set inside your mistakes

Void at the gate

 I lost my hope at the central terminal
My ticket wouldn't pass
I couldnt sync the ticket with the airport code
I sat in the concourse pretending not to care

Hungry at the little food quart blinking takeaway lights
The hint smell of fat and frying meat
The knowing ones were already packed
The lazer light switched green for them

Off they flew to some other bubble
To speak like those people
To walk and eat like those ones do
Me, sitting starving for that variety

Soon they will expell me from here
Like family
Like school
And I'll have the empty pavement to myself

The smell of homeless urine
Uneaten charity meals
I'll make my way on foot
back to some shack

And people will go on being people
Ignoring me pretending they dont know me when im down
And congratualting me pretending they know me when I'm on
Asking me if I could validate my ticket

And I'll lie and say yes
And tell them I'll be on my way
They'll euphorically farewell me
avoiding me the next day

Quaint languid nightmare

 Windmill lodge by the lake
Maternalness long grass
Humid breeze
caravans under windmills

What part of my life demands this?
The long trip home that never comes
The reeds bump and whistle flute like
The water levels low

A vehicle arrives stones crunch 
Back from the capital
I ask will you accompany me
You say you'll stay at the lodge

Watch the geese
The neighbors children
Irrelevant amenities
A quick road to obscurity

Each thread of the heart
Hardening into hollow chambers
rubbed by the breeze
playing like sad flutes

Take my hand 
Wake from this bad dream
Because I can hear you wail in your sleep
All the way across the ocean