pi & anne

I know the road sweeper is near without it being close. I wake up before the alarm goes off. A book to check off ‘a hundred things to do before you die’; I don’t buy it. I wait. Mould myself into caws, the coal of a match on my fingers, and wet shoes. Nothing, everything; ink on the trousers of a schoolboy. Sweet berries. The ocean, unmoved by my presence; I do all the work for both of us. Counting the steps up to our flat. Using the wrong door to the stairway in the store and setting off the alarm; I drift away, on the waves of sound. Cinnamon. Piano keys. I waste my time typing in my head blank pages of beautiful white. It rains. In the evening, before falling asleep, I touch your shoulder.

  an open invitation
  i bring along
  myself