thresholds tremble like rubber bands,
prisms do handstands in space,
puns switch alliances,
crazes lose face,
clouds can’t stop changing their minds.
the sun dissolves like a berocca,
night chews on its dark nails backstage,
change rounds up and down like an unkeeled boat,
the next wave is fed by the last’s broken yolk.
my wounds are all fading like memories,
my memories bleed like fresh wounds,
but your face, as bright as a star-mart,
is never closed,
is always open.
streetlamps bend and glow, giant dandelions,
a flush of white along the wet road,
cloud stretches, sunlight finds a tear,
rushes down like an obsessed fan,
blood grows, unclenches my head,
air dispenses mouth to mouth for free.
shopfronts, glossed like photos
strung together on a gaze,
colours engorge, jostle for places
in the periphery, glazed faces
make signs of life at me.
birds take chips out of the silence;
the tar taps back my soul, word for word.