unhalf magpies pair for life. this means, if you see one – they’ve lost one. a whole sky to lose themselves in, blue for the tumbling. until the cry of night’s door,
bottle blue we’re all just so many vessels, clinking together on Sunday buses. entirely at the mercy of brakes; we rock forward, we rock backward. later… before…
a trophy, gold a mid-October sun, catches on the plastic bag held night-tight in your hand. the gold, of six litres of cider shines out, as you come first. upstairs cold water flat
flutter sitting here, my memory unpacks your smile. bright eyed i push an invite in light, to the cold glass of my window. their paper arrival is softer than i can hear;
mantras i have so many mantras for the morning, i’m having to get up earlier, and earlier. it’s all about positive thinking. i’m positive i am thinking too much.
