walk with one shoe
Deano e1492186970680

It’s 2 a.m, the laughing has stopped across the hall, as voices scramble for clarity, disappearing in the distance on the far side of the house. Shadows of mindless silence. The wind caresses mottled design fragments on the wall, moist spring moonlit vigilance prepares the chill of night on my face. The hue of neon filters through panes, breakout drawers under the spotlight spew my clothes, the great escape.

My sheets, armour against the reality protruding through the keyhole of my door. Its not the first time that sees me hiding in the warmth when bombs the size of a country’s debt explodes with false flags of destruction, deceit, world order for one. But the day emerges from my sleep as I peer through the window horn in the distance. My front door screams dull muted tones as I head down the street. A car coughs moves into 9 to 5, I gesture a picture sullen asleep smoke in hand.

The bus engulfs me. As i sit looking out through the gills of my transporter a wash of
pre owned flavours pass like a school of shallow swimmers, conditioned controlled chaos of
raging wheels generate the day pulling the sun into the sky. Bus snacks on Asian cuisine as th journey to the city endures time spent consoling handheld prophets spruiking life goals for the holy.

The city yawns, expelling the night workers, street sweepers brush the well worn cobble
stone teeth, toothpick streetlights. Panhandling, clutching to a dog for warmth, dreary
eyed smile, she sits with the remnants of coffee cups strewn in her wake. Once majestic buildings caged, eminent destruction. Descent further into the belly of the city, stairs to a familiar smell of tea and last nights discussions of the rights and wrongs of the world passing.
We talk of the new days to come when she enters the room, quiet in longing for a perfect
life absolved of the night before, fire in her tongue “i just can’t win!” he says, another cup
of tea. Another masterpiece of momentary lapse of reason.