Stop Think

Opaque paragraphs, the closing mouths of mindless expression, the things we pull during, before leaving, after arriving.
Instantaneous communication, the opening seconds firsts no’s.
no I know you’ve got me now, who even are you I don’t really mind? You understand. Transport the post-cigarette flush to the hots of an air conditioning conditioning me to think good things. Good things. I have my feet hanging from my legs suddenly invigorated and the beatzzz are pushing my toes up, more and more, upward upward, behold yo.
The bandstand sounds a dance, good friction, the wooden legs of a chair across the floor, wanting not to be noise

Realise the size that you’ve been missin’

Keeping the faith is akin to a conversation between two dancers about sleep patterns and patterns of love, prefixes folding into endings and hands folding into heart pumps in the temples, holding me, holding the wants


as each chord strikes a building of press
“What are we really fighting about” where each word of the whole
fall between places § ta ta ta ta ta
. . . . . .
pressing like another
wording for the other
not really minding much eight nine to heavens
evening a dance between thoughts

Imagination is just another crux of good rhythm

you got me hearts in knots n fings  – thanks Harriet Brown

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