Spring cleansing

"... if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables, as we did in Kansas." Langston Hughes


To be kind. After all, liebe ist für alle da. That's probably why the van is there. A new schedule. 'TOMAS.' Big on blue. Used to pylons, things. Not used to being in quotation marks. Trying to do being kind, now.

Being kind. All the suddenly open shutters. Graffiti being removed. Cars being towed. Wondered, earlier, if I should raise the alarm with neighbours about that, or if that'd be creating an alarm. The possibility of state-sponsored graffiti. Final nails. There's now no excuse for not being available, you need to be as sociable as you can be, for the work, always online, contactable. Shopping as a necessity, as a thing that you have to do, to have an excuse to leave confinement. I'm shopping now, actually. To escape the complacency of home. To come to terms with my generally reduced levels of anxiety.

Wondering what's in everyone's rubbish. Not looking too closely - but it is just gloves. There's noone hanging around on street corners; alleys appear newly tempting. Complacency. False kindness. Hate crime's probably gone down.

~

I caught a sunburn, through the window. I don't matter - I'd invite you to hold me, or touch me, like a glance, for five minutes, but I haven't felt clean lately, and I'd wince, and it'd hurt you. I promise I'd hurt you. Stay clear?

~

It's too early to alternate to outside again. The plague can live for a long time in the souls of the elderly.

~

But if I went outside. If I walked to the common, to the picnic area / murder area. Would that be necessary? Would it be unnecessary, if I wanted to do it, and would be unhappy otherwise, or perhaps even murderously unhappy?

Stem: Death row meals

Death row meals

For my death row dinner, I would like
[invent a dish that sounds fancy - maybe French? maybe with some real words and some invented ones?], with
[another dish that sounds at least vaguely sophisticated; possibly slightly ridiculous; maybe obviously made up] followed by
[and the point is that you continue this poem, with every line ending with a connective, inventing weird concoctions, until it becomes clear to the reader that this is a never-ending, ludicrous wishlist, designed to filibuster]

Things I learnt from watching the Taylor Swift documentary

1. This poem has nothing to do with Taylor Swift.

2. I would be happy if I could write one great poem.

3. Be careful about who you bind your happiness to.

4. I really want to write a great poem tonight!

5. Sometimes when you're exploring, it's hard to find out if you're touching the inner ear.

6. I think this poem will be a b-side, in fact, I knew it instantly.

7. Tonight I created a 'not a great salad'.

8. Everytime I fail to make a breakthrough in my work, I feel like a total failure.

9. An album has 16-20 songs, she said, I think.

10. I am not sure I have a tremendous work ethic.

Not before

Not before
you climb on all the best roofs at uni,

not before you learn to cook
and learn to make, learn to be
someone's favourite dish,

and not until
you make your first brand new friend in sixth form.

Not sooner than
your full and glorious name is printed on
something published,

and not a second earlier than
you decide a song is 'your song' on a night out
or 'our song', on a big one.

Not in advance of
you telling a tiny version of you,
even if it's 2%, semi-skimmed you,
about things they can look forward to in life;

not prior to you, for instance,
hiding in a church from the rain,
crashing choir practice, with someone you love,

and not before you
meeting someone who for now
is being wonderful in space, just getting ready to meet you;

and not before so many things that
you can't expect the joy of
or expect, at all.

Not before Venice
or back from Venice
or before you've built on Venice
a new dream city,
and not until you've floated around that, too.

Not before someone's favourite poem
is you

and not before you've been read

and not before you've got up on stage
and sung the song of yourself.