It’s Friday, you’ve been here since Monday, you’re dying in this hydraulic powered bed
My heart’s had enough of half-hearted tries, need to hit all your mind all over, then backwards we’ll fall into our cage of love
I have the feel for you, a steel kestrel, heightened, diving down on his Baby
I’ll take you with the disease, I took you in before this, I’m all heart, give me your illness, I’ll emaciate beside you, we’ll live together in dead truth
Your yellowing skin and sunken coracle eyes dancing in Afghanistan
I’ll discharge us, steal an ambulance, we can go back to our dust layer, to where they rolled you out from, like a pram-kid on the shortest day of the year, but they’ve strapped you in
I’ve been sitting on the one chair without jackets or bags, window ledge city birds stare out to the wrong side, and I don’t have birdseed to bribe their motivations, sing for you
Your sister phoned-in her business, she won’t be here to see the flash, that moment when you reach ecstasy in breathlessness




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