Hello and can’t quite and unfathomable and you are the powdered drink trying to unswell my throat if it is unswellable and not now permanently all the more bouncy and I remember the transition you made and each time you made it and I know you weren’t finished, were every part a Brecht masterpiece, and were a continue-grow, a keep-go, and I continue to coddle you, to swaddle and swoddle you, and you’ll never be blanketless around me. Instead I’ll buy every straight to video, every cinema ticket share I can take. And I’ll feed you M & Ms from pick and mix bags, just the red white and blue, then we’re solidly patriotic and no-one assumes it, sees it, waits, because how could they do this again?


I’m going to pick a moment to live and it won’t be expected like a birthday, holiday, landmark like moving, or breaking someone’s stare. A mother’s meal, dad’s advice, hospital break out or work-up purchase. An achievement medal-worthy, wedding or chip-eating-cemetery sitting with Jack, John, Paul.

Instead I pick this long forgotten kiss which both parties remember on technicality: the jukebox mechanism, toilet lock, soaked beer mats. And in hindsight it’s a regraded movie, re-reviewed a decade later by sit-through-movie-goers who toy with their “leave any time clause.” And they’d always rather stay than leave and never know. Conclusivity is better, whatever it sheds. Usually just carrot grated boredom.