Elegy of malt and steel.
If we drink together again I fear I might fall
out of the hole in the floor beneath our feet
In the subway carriage I can only stare into the depths beyond us whilst you stand and think yourself as though you are the shepherd of our flock
As we tumble over each rail and the sparks reach up towards us I shield my face,
You do not,
you only grimace in the heat
the commuters surrounding us seem not to notice
And then when our snaking selves wrap around the platform edge
The grimace writhes and twists itself off of your teeth and lips into a shaking head
As though you have flown high above the mere idiocy of my condition
But what do you know?
Of fear, of short shocks and wounds deep enough to hide inside the very fibres of muscular forms
If your face were to change
would your memories be different too?
Will you follow me now between the cracks in the concrete
As I trickle through porous layers?
The fool’s honey in my glass is spilling by the ounce
And as I grow to the ground I am soaked in it
But you are not soaked in anything, never
wrung out as your body contorts itself into a cotton rag
Your body is stone and set as it has always been
You are not covered in the stains of polished shoes like the worn fabric of me
And I envy you for it
I envy you at the top of the escalator
when you step off and I am pulled between the grooves and teeth and back inside the motor
Pulled back towards the carriages and closing doors
From there I am held by amphibious form, circling,
strangling around me
Sodden with amber and barley as I draw nearer to the same hole in the carriage floor
Smothering in steam and skyless warmth
The night air is cool and familiar
on your face and whistling between strands of commuters’ hair,
On the station floor my feet are anchors in the sand beneath your moon
Where I can only watch your sheepish faces as they dwindle
out of the hole in the floor beneath our feet
In the subway carriage I can only stare into the depths beyond us whilst you stand and think yourself as though you are the shepherd of our flock
As we tumble over each rail and the sparks reach up towards us I shield my face,
You do not,
you only grimace in the heat
the commuters surrounding us seem not to notice
And then when our snaking selves wrap around the platform edge
The grimace writhes and twists itself off of your teeth and lips into a shaking head
As though you have flown high above the mere idiocy of my condition
But what do you know?
Of fear, of short shocks and wounds deep enough to hide inside the very fibres of muscular forms
If your face were to change
would your memories be different too?
Will you follow me now between the cracks in the concrete
As I trickle through porous layers?
The fool’s honey in my glass is spilling by the ounce
And as I grow to the ground I am soaked in it
But you are not soaked in anything, never
wrung out as your body contorts itself into a cotton rag
Your body is stone and set as it has always been
You are not covered in the stains of polished shoes like the worn fabric of me
And I envy you for it
I envy you at the top of the escalator
when you step off and I am pulled between the grooves and teeth and back inside the motor
Pulled back towards the carriages and closing doors
From there I am held by amphibious form, circling,
strangling around me
Sodden with amber and barley as I draw nearer to the same hole in the carriage floor
Smothering in steam and skyless warmth
The night air is cool and familiar
on your face and whistling between strands of commuters’ hair,
On the station floor my feet are anchors in the sand beneath your moon
Where I can only watch your sheepish faces as they dwindle