it was comfort-shaped
until it wasn't, unclear
why the change arrived
strange, on a train from nowhere
to an unseen trap
unclean and spitefully laid
trees and boughs no place
for you as you choked - sudden
public property
in ways you weren't in the past
a day out with them
"perhaps a dress, my darling,
instead of those old leggings"
you apply pressure
knowing its effect on me
disproportionate
to the words you choose with care
for their innocence
each small noise an atomic
shattering in me
every frail limit transgressed
my whole world moved, unasked for
step in for a hug
dissolving like sunburnt fog
a damp fade, disappointment
and there's just shadows
sleep sour across a drunk tongue
cheap building laughter creaking
fabric and warpaint
vodka, dancing, kissing, smiles
all the things you were and are
you say yes, or no
shoes so high you can taste clouds
and we all respect your joy -
the least we can do
there are the old tales
of the man who went for smokes
and never returned
as if it was that easy
afraid of laughter
in case it turned showery
caressing with smoke
lungs that gave up long ago
filled with that small joy
and he said, 'fuck it', and went
elsewhere, far beyond
the reach of life's pain and hope
as if his long trail
of lived days led to one choice
as if it wasn't
the weight of so much choosing
that crushed him to a fine dust
snug door
storm trapped outside
the shape of you in the darkness
our bones still humming to the tyres
skin patterned by stitched seats
eyes busy with back projections rolling
hands full wet clothes puddled
somewhere it is morning
there are people on their way to work
this is the stolen place between lies
where we can be true
light switch hidden but not needed
rain picking at the roof
wind wrestling the branches
peace in the darkness
and then they cut you
like you were the pattern bits
and not the pinned-to fabric
defining edges
from where no edges had been
before hungry scissors snipped
hand-me-down threadbare heirlooms
of common sense and stock phrases
well intentioned tools to short-circuit
critical thoughts
as if we're afraid to be asked or ask
questions we have to think about
too scared to admit we don't know
and that not knowing is default human
but even more afraid to say the clean thing -
not having time to try to find out
is what left us for dead
before we rose, zombie