7am (self-talk)

Let’s slash


This crawling juncture of sleepy smoke and eyes prised open-

Why not go?

I’ll drag myself through a drunken sunrise and emerge

Alert and sparkling clean-

You’ll be grasping the bones of my wrist looking dazed-

And I’ll laugh:

‘Have you ever seen it this beautiful before?’


A child’s frown-

‘But it’s ugly,

It’s fucked up, it’s a wreck.’

Smile slips-

I was in love with it, a grey that one could sink into and nobody would look for you-

Submerged in a silence and a noise, a humming forest of slick concrete-

You look up and say:

‘I do like this rain though.’

We are soaked through.

7am (self-talk)

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