Y6week16 when you can't communicate

hey. been busy and couldn't for the life of me put the bits and pieces i had into a somewhat acceptible form for the last weeks. and now this is pretty horrible(especially the second half). :? anyway, have to start posting again :wink:

when you can't communicate

a child in a smeared polaroid
upright on a wooden horse
eyes on the blurring line of asphalt and scarred sky

it's a hermit on a bicycle
circling the streets after nightfall
it's a dreamer trapped inside his dream
eyes on the river that cornered him

pencil letters huddled together
on a loose page

and, åh, åskan går
och floden börjar att viska

lost on a sidewalk with breath particles
like dust on deserted living room furniture
these foreign tongues in salted waves
wash over my night-time face

åh, åskan går
och floden börjar att stiga

if I hold my breath I might dissolve
blood-shot eyes watch as the river branches out

and, åh, åskan går
och floden stiger vidare

we are cornered by the river.

[once the paint recaptures the pavement
the water will evaporate, I know, the whisper will faint
but for now “the colour of summer at six in the evening” is forever escaping]

cheers,
straycat.