The noise stops
you in your tracks
So loud it feels the world
is crumbling
A tremble passes
over the ground
under your skin
You look around
to see how others
to this assault
to the implosion of the world
And the tremble
Grows stronger
as you realise
only you
only you
feel this collapse.
You are at war with yourself.


The world shrinks,
2m X 1.6m X introspection –
the dimensions of your cage,
its bars invisible,
their presence palpable.
The air here is laced
with wandering thoughts.
It is heavy.
It is toxic.
It weighs on you.
It poisons you.
You are reminded:
It is possible to drown in air.



The desk by the window
where you pen your thoughts
  is beautiful.
  was here when you arrived.
  will stay when you go.

These rooms,
their walls, doors, windows,
  compose Home.
  are always different.
  are never truly yours.
Home asks for time
  to be found.
  to be grown.
  to be preserved.
Expecting its comfort
simply for showing up.
  is naïve.
  is futile.

Home found in transience
can only be temporary.
They are borrowed walls.
They are borrowed streets.
They are borrowed sunshine.
Borrowed air. Borrowed friends.
You are a guest
  in your rooms, town, country.
  in someone else’s home.
You are at home here
  for now.
You are at home here
  for now.
You are at home
Expecting to escape yourself
by running away
  is futile.
  is naïve.

Oh -ME- oh -i-

This is the story of an -i-,
lonely as lonely can be,
for daily she found herself adrift
amidst only islands of -WE-.
Try as she might to come ashore
nought worked – no effort nor plea,
for the -WE-‘s did not know what to do with an -i-
(in the past they had all just been -ME-‘s.)
“An -i-? You’re a freak.
There’s no island for you,
this isn’t the refuge you seek.
Now begone on your driftwood, on on far away,
you’ve already had more than a peek.
Your form is all wrong
though you might mean the same,
but an -i- is not quite a -ME-;
flip -ME- upside down it’s -WE- you will see,
but an -i-? What could there possibly be?
An -i- upside down is but -!-
– an exclamation of anxiety –
you’re connected not even to yourself
yet you wish to become a -WE-?”
So the -i- sailed away, and still sails today,
under a sky devoid completely of stars,
sans celestial guidance to orient herself,
and with hope grown evermore sparse.
Her voyage unknown to maritime charts,
no map nor compass in hand;
treading deep waters with a sorrowful heart,
still searching for somewhere to land.


To those who don’t know it, its name
evokes images of debauchery
illuminated in red and fed
by a cocktail of plants
and chemicals
to destroy.

Whose fate, however
has led them here –
they are privileged
for having felt
the wonder
by knowing
the embrace
of canals ringed
by brick lanes lined
by walls and windows
old enough to know
the impermanence
of our being

is understanding that
our tot straks
will soon become
tot ziens –
our see-you-laters
finally, into
“farewell” –
and accepting
that Home,
however temporal,
exists singularly,
because for fragments
of revolutions around a star,
servings of sunshine and souls
were shared
by kindred spirits
brought together
in one city’s embrace.

What are we to do, then,
but be thankful,
marvel, and rejoice
that such wonder
should exist;
could ever have existed
at all.