Declare Your Goods

Declare your goods:

 

Exotic dirt-danced shoes

Brushing britches

In a two-part tango

Across a coast

Designed by dancers

Powdered streets with foreign footprints

 

Photographs of family

Of friends

Festivities

Embossed in minds

The blueprints of a future

A finite forever

 

A blazer

Saturated in salty scents

Of minerals

To set ablaze

A Golden Gate

Of International Orange

 

Wrist wrappings

Stitched with pride

Declare themselves

In unabashed glory –

Seven shades of soulful souvenir

To parade

 

A distinct new State

Of movement

Of memory

Of mind

Moments to mark in time

 

You must declare your goods.

Advertisements

A General Direction

I was left breathless

Hoping and wanting and finally loving

The way you seemed to be looking

In my general direction

It was a crowded night

Filling with people, intentions and drinks

I saw the way you parted that sea

To walk in my general direction

You smiled and nodded

A flicker of acknowledgement too casual

A way to express any thoughts

You had for passing my general direction

And I stopped myself

Hoping and wanting and finally craving

For a way to erase my hopes that you

Would be more than in my general direction

Transience

A person has not the luxury of dispersion

To mushroom and fade in the subtlest way

It is not possible to become so innocuously beautiful

A whisper of smoke or a lingering scent

Could never have been such a clumsy form

Coats of perfume and and fluttering voices

Are mere approximations

They are cheap substitutes for existing between states

It is a privilege to be so subtle and treasured

And a blessing to be so inconsequential

An Expert Deposition

The most recent expert in existence I interviewed nodded as their shoulders shrugged,

A non-linguistic interlocutory cue signalling the exact disposition we share,

I shrug my coat on

And nod to acquaintances

I shrug my coat off

And nod in acknowledgement;

I concur with the expert — it is impossible to know.

The Girl and the Graveyard

I aim for home between the rubble and the dust,

Somewhere hidden underneath those messy layers

My clothes and shoes and regrets, laid bare and dirty

Mistakes I burrow myself within

I must be hoping to build myself a home

Since no one commits themselves to mass excavation unless they are looking for permanence

There is a vast cavern in me

It is the plot hole in the cemetery in which I am burying myself