Explosions in the brain
As fireworks exploded above our heads
You hit yours against the wall
Repeatedly
I couldn’t tell at first whether it was explosives or skull
I convinced you to write a pro-and-contra list for moving to this “shitty town”
Taking your mind off momentarily
Thinking to myself that
Our autumn-teasered winter garden
Has now imploded medicine-absent
Under its own weight
Brain-fog lifting clarity
As a potential
But this time
You say
You didn’t dare to re-take them
As it may turn out
I, too, am an illusion
That day you landed in your
Child brain
One-word sentences your main way
Searching incessantly failingly
For flowers, frogs, flower frogs and motorcycles
Your grandma
Dead in thought
Your floor
An assemblage of Memory cards and pills
You wanted to leave for the other end of the world
And
At times you wanted to
Leave life
How funny that
The cinema we hide in features outdated brochures only
Of concerts several months past
Matches the state of us
I contain eye rain
As we cycle through the early spring night
Differently
– The illusion has escaped
You wrap your hand around my wrist
Sandy, half-convinced, half hesitantly but
carefully hidden so, the latter
We tap our feet into a splash
Are stonewashed starfish scouting out the depth of what
You promise will get us to the corals
Surface light, our backs warm-waved wells
We swim sometimes in (a)synchrony
My feet tingle, and I see your arms weaken
Yet you keep pointing towards
The depth of the waters that eventually
will bring colour and shape
But as we keep struggling groundwards
I start wondering whether
By the time we reach the corals
my lungs will have folded inwards
Orange sprinkles
You leave on the dark wooden table an air of
Abandoned abundance
Of brokenist ideas of what capitalism can’t be and still
We find ourselves in its twirls and spirals, at times and often downward
Soaking up
The heavily careless at times, yet only tangentially
Knowing it could be significantly more violent to exist within
The constant resistance a tiresome and rarely rewarding one
When your golden helmet shines and hits a pillar
While I explain
I’d prioritise political work over a family
You correct my grammar
Tiny steps in a room called . 