Friday, 20 April 2018


The creature in the sauna tells the future
even though we all know there is none.

It is a comfort to play pretend. Bare
your back to the bannik and wait

for a stroke or a strike. All I want
is to believe in divination because

if the book is already written then no
ghosts have torn out the pages. My favourite

time of day is the one we don’t have clothes
for. I will strip myself to skin if it means

a second helping. In the sauna we are all
on the spectrum—on the one side

it’s past and paster but in the future
I’m hoping cake to the ceiling. I want to be

told I sweat so fancily. Can you whisper
a history as thick as thigh bones?

I’ll show up again playing the breakfast violin.

No comments:

Post a Comment