to start again, it is hard

i take a long hard look at the blank box (blank sheet, blank canvass). the box stares back and dares: fill me with words, just you try...

one day the stories came, and another they went away. once there were princesses and mice and dragons and a girl... maybe the got caught on the tail of a cumulus nimbus, somewhere in between london, joburg, sao paulo, montevideo... somewhere on the way from here to there to nowhere. somewhere on this journey, walking backwards into the future. maybe they will fall back to earth disoriented from the storm... a dishevelled princess wandering the streets of lubumbashi, a puny dragon caught up in the maelstrom of carnival in rio, mice scuttling across the andes, and a girl, a girl, a girl, stuck in london, looking around, trying to find where her feet are standing now.

things we have in common

i asked him 'what's wrong with you?' and he listed all the things that are wrong with me too.

patches

blue jeans black top
kissing at the bus stop
twenty million miles away from you
sparks fly
pram wielding teenagers pop
a mascarade carnival queen
orange juice terror
low lying clouds pressing down
champagne stories repeated
one day you will call and i may answer
one day you will call and i
one day you... and i...
blue jeans and a sparkly top