The need to move
Why move to
another city
To be alone
and fight our demons?
We can have
it all right here
And now. Just
look at him
Drawn in
the corner. An outline
Of solitude
with a wretched air
From
failing to slay time
A defensive
loop he repeats
Like Don
Quixote each tilting day
Arm
slashing the sun with a cardboard cup
He looks to
dowse the dawning flames
With eyes,
a chaotic burst of ink on water
Floating
rhizomes
To spread a
rumour of prussian blue
With its reputation
for stability
But each paling
tendril takes root in a memory
That
surrenders an argument
or an
entire family to a flaring desire
To reach for
somewhere brighter
See his
hands, palms filthy from the fight
Burnt umber
splinters smudged into creases
Only
survivors know how to make
Alerting us
to furrows, precipices and falls
When we
expect too much
Or say
that’s enough
His willow
jawline is a history of ash
Punctuated
by stabbing grunts as he pokes
The air,
remembering
The need to
move to fight our demons.
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