lanzarote i.

exhausted by the tyranny of choice, 

unable to sleep

four alarmed hours, 

panic 

then mile-high boredom.

bad pizza is still kinda good, 

parched stroll less soo

cacti burrito, 

a visage 

of the village 

in the mirage…

reinforcements parachuting in

petulant torrents of surf, 

energía de la patata grande

pumice piss, 

curtain of cliffs 

and scattered sand 

past the chain-gang (squared)

by fag ash straits 

of jagged lava, 

literal poetry in motion

i’m not much of a photo person. i’m not sure why, as i have total aphantasia which means i cannot see anything in my mind. i can’t just look once at the view and recall it forevermore.

maybe i should. but this disability has meant my internal world has always been dark and wordy. so when i’m on holiday, i like to record the holiday in poetry. this short series describes my cycling holiday with friends in lanzarote last year.