On Leave Until
Nothing died today & by that I mean progress. All around the city people were in love with their feet. Their exacting marrow. I saw the old exec leave a wet eyelash on his competitor’s palm.
Outside yellow buckets burst with the names of yesterday’s cultivars. The terminally ill stroked the whale bone of their deaths. Wombs of ewes rolled out from fridge freezers. Gulls spun in their oil leaks like ancient fish.
I thought I’d send a message to my mother. By that I mean a message to myself. My father replied with his symmetry. I knew I’d spend the day wondering if the work of blood was valued by the aorta.
Before bed my little empire wrapped his arms around my neck. I made us a lullaby out of all the ways I’d been hunted. By the end we were both fast asleep. Our wheezing the allegorical labour of tomorrow.