lanzarote iv.

fly a magic carpet ride
on the greenback camel trail
and bury my radar
deep at wounded knee
boquerones on the lounger,
bocadillo by the sea
agree to be fleeced
for an airport charter
nintendo cheesecake
or deep fried mars bar
waitress seems genuinely surprised
by everything we say
or order
last day jog 12k
no joint issues
hoppipolla yoga

i love eating cheese sandwiches on holiday. with a little tin of beer. then a little cake. or ten. bike rides, lounging in the sun, loads of carbs. feeling very tempted to abandon writing for the day and book a holiday.

lanzarote iii.

lizard pulse pathos
and egrets on the gravel cut
fling a ring around the thing
regret declined burrata
fact checked on carbon i rediscover
archaeomagnetic dating,
did you know the poles
will switch
and north will
become south.
prohibito biciclette
celestial waves
lapping rusty mounds
baps boobing
a breasty boundary
round emphysema
cowboy country

before i went on the bike holiday i’d had a period of poor health that culminated in a trip to the hospital and a spinal tap. i was on medication for migraines, but it made me sluggish and slowed my heart rate down, so i started the last climb of the day a bit ahead of my pals in case i struggled. i was fine, but i got lost and had to reroute my way back and i went over some very sketchy ‘gravel’ roads. quite stressful. being lost in the desert alone is not what i hope for.

lanzarote ii.

el grifo abandonado,
aquapark de los muertos
pizza tres quesos,
no blue,
snide salad.
poolside morning yoga
and think about the future
fall asleep in my clothes
fresh from the waffle shop boys
sick in the toilet at midnight
maybe thanks
to the waffle shop boys

i eat a lot of cake on cycling holidays. on this occasion, i think the late night waffle after dinner was a refined carbohydrate too far.

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.