New Year

Surrender and the too tired to ache; surrender and the memory of drive & loss.

A bureau with its drawers sewn shut, the things and lyrics turning to dust. I wanted to make a movie.

It’s a seat on the side not driving now, a seat with a view of a landscape neither read of nor walked through, ever, now or ever.
It’s the backs of the people, the creatures, the many, fading now into darkness that itself is fading into light. The light is bad, it is bad bad bad. It is the rescue team coming in to ruin this makeshift little town, the one we built because we had to go, so long a time a go.
I don’t want to have to leave it, now or ever. The great wave of grammar, ripplesnapped and seething from the quake on the other side of the world, coming in now to swamp and drown down it all. Grammar on horseback, pikes envenomed and possessed and precise, coming in, to tear off the names we made, leave the raw scalp and skin, and spell time in reference to a sun we’ve never seen. That light.

They’ve made me pity the murdered murderer, because I - you - are next in the plot they wring.

Fields, seas, cars, islands, rooms & rooms & rooms, where the new year has turned. Again it turns.
A seriousness, learning the deep separation of marriage, that space between which a child could be born.
There’s no one left, who was who they were. Everyone’s become someone else, as we’ve gone through the time in view of each other, defended & seeking the spot where there used to be a guard.

Love