demo memo recorded in Baurisheen. Crows scratching the air in the back garden. Early September 2019. Look at where the time has gone, how is this possible?
See the line, it’s far away but
Getting closer all the time
I turn my back, try to run, but
Can’t escape what’s in my mind.
Anyway, anywhere, it is waiting
For a slip, for a fall, for my failing.
Under the boards of all our floors is a hollow space
Where we confide in what we hide in our shadows’
Deep blue eyes
That recognise us
Our secret sides and
Our trapdoor smiles.
See his box, concede, I’m in it
It’s all I’ve got, so paper thin
Salutate my loves, my limits
Something’s loose under my skin.
This is a simple salute to the folds in our shadows and the rustles in waiting dark nights. You never know when a fog will fall, a darkness will drop, or a day will snap in two. It’s not something that can be outran, or contained or pacified. So sometimes you have to sit and confide, and stare into its pools of eyes, dark and blue and wide. Sink or swim. Things get out or they get in.