i take a bridge to the opaque sky, 

cranes peak above the mist

sanity is no identity 

likely to inspire me.

the storm comes, 

a lockdown redux

trapped and claustrophobic.

pulling up archival sleeves

although i’m not 

the most thoughtful typist

stoic, waiting, 

on the fundamental 

life changing news

a decade to the day, 

again it goes my way

ah friend anxiety, 

my quitting finger itches

tomorrow’s loaf will be a belter, 

yesterday’s a chinese whisper

my girlfriend got trapped at my flat on the day of a big storm. she left to go home in the morning, but it was so windy she came back. i was just having a normal work day, she was climbing the walls. she baked cookies with chickpea flour. they were pretty nice.

i went through a big archival urge about a year ago. started sorting documents. sketching out timeframes. i think i was preparing to write a memoir. i was worried i was planning on doing myself in. well, its a year later, and i’m glad to say i’m working on a memoir. although, it is not a true story. in the traditional sense.