She Says, They Say
She says, they say,
go with the flow
and she does, but literally,
and runs with the flow
carelessly, at first, and then carelessly more,
seize the moment she sees to say ‘seize every moment’
until she sees but doesn’t realise she’s not running,
has no control,
and like the rain down your face,
touches everything; dirt from everything
and is in the gutter and run-off and dead leaves and cigarette butts
and the damp between someone’s foot and their thong.
And we meet eyes, briefly, properly
And see each other, properly
I have no idea what I am doing, you tell me among damp silence.
And then you’re back there,
every new midnight friend is the best, you say,
and deadness, everywhere,
Of every last one thrown away,
and everything from a yesterday.
But always expecting the ocean:
for the current to ease
and the water open up and be purified.
To make it somewhere.
But she’s not the flow, she stops,
stuck on a cheap bracelet
wedged in the cover of a drain, under a chip packet,
watching the water spin and foam below,
and maybe it’s spinning or she’s spinning, who knows.
It’s beautiful at least, she says, but it’s not.
Maybe she’s spinning it, she still thinks, but she’s not.
Go with the flow, she says, drowning, smiling, carpe dieme,
reaching up to me, needing me to know.
Keep your flow.
My demons sleep-in with every appointment I make,
every drug I don’t take
every day I make it out of bed
complete this performance routine
I skip the debris of the storm in my head,
the flow that wakes me floating,
sweating every morning at 4am,
pissing out my ears
shitting on everything I say, touch and think I am;
soaked in doubt and accusations,
like the flood season of a third world nation
I wring it out in the gutter, try to keep my feet dry.
and the stream of this storm leads to no ocean and where I’ll lie
in open waters, one day,
I tell you, with my own deliberate direction I will make my way.