.

there’s always a place for simple narrative
something that’s not the holy breathlessness of poetry
writing that lacks pretension
     and ulterior motives
good plain writing that doesn’t try to do something it’s not

     there is no time for that
          kind of heaving
     that sweatiness

     we don’t need that rubbish inflicted on us
     it’s enough with all the information
     already piled on us everywhere we look
     without having something other than that
     forced on us as well     

stretching out in front of her
the airport
became all that she saw

no matter what the weather
there was always the same air
stiff and pushed up against her face

she had become an airport person
living in an airport country
her memories all crowded around together
in their grey and white glassiness

somewhere between
departure and arrival
she found her existence
full of break-ups and reunions
always in that same new way

i felt like an old campaigner
and u just starting out
but with wounds that would make me pale
if i cd imagine them

so i hug u with your fierceness
your determinedness

with your quiet flamboyance breaking down
seeping from your eyes

there’s nothing i can say for us
the future’s white grey metal closing all around

i can only give u money for a taxi
say i’ll call u in the morning

and that’s what we have
stupid
beautiful
mundane