17.2.12

the weight of an hour

dear diary,
dear morning.

05.30 am
it all makes sense, the city lies dead
i must be the only one left breathing.

05.40 am
ultrarapid, nuclear meltdown, the flutter of wings, cheekbones, concrete,
his name the haunting cry of a violin.

05.50 am
before the time of the murder (headlines: young boy, 15, dismembered)
i thought that i had met the most beautiful man in the world.
his slow brushes, cotton finger traces, leaf like shoulders, fine white charcoal lines.
i thought that i had found the most
beautiful man in the world, had felt his gentle caresses.
beside him, before him, along him, within him, balancing at the tip
of youth, swaying at the edge of adulthood, a blunt force, its sharp nature.
church bells ringing, chains breaking,
before the time of the murder, chronology our only predator.

06.05 am
something fictional, the view from down below
a photograph of an open window, the cool morning breeze and
sheer silk curtains teasingly dancing with every whiff of the wind,
him,
too young, a nosebleed, blurred vision, white powder, black horse
too young, crimson winter, blood stained snow, ravaging purity
me,
too old, ancient forests, murky breath, skin like sandalwood
too old, lumps of flesh held in fists of iron, a prostitute of a million faces
vanilla scented candles, cherry flavoured lingerie,
through the socket of his eye, my loaded gun.

06.15 am
the haunting cry of a violin,
nuclear meltdown, the flutter of wings, cheekbones, concrete.
asphalt dripping, boiling, orange men, wax men dripping, boiling,
forming thick opaque puddles, orange oceans, deep black oceans
slowly expanding, erasing every shadow of the undergrowth,
sweet and sticky, the spellbinding smell of tar.

06.20 am
a flight of stairs, a pile of empty bottles, smashed up glasses,
petals, mindflowers, torn out pages, diaries, dreamers,
a scrawny black cat my sole companion.

06.25 am
memories carried in my back pocket:
letters from the white country.
the snow, its tender fall, a grace, your open chest
the mountains, your visions wrapped in pearly blankets
the glaciers, you, crystallised, you, the sharp, brittle icicles.
over the ice glides the powder queen

06.30 am
the difference between a promise and a curse
an omen and a blessing
i must be the only one left breathing.

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