January 17, 2015 § Leave a comment

2 candles lit, she tells me, for twins. Lit at the start of mass,
so my father can leave after communion. She says through
these candles that she feels full of hope for us, and I wonder
if her’s is a request. My days have lost the shape of the week.

Anaemia, she calls back. Takes all meaning from me by
identifying a lack of blood, or haemoglobin, or whatever it is.
No. Bowen, says my fellow bookseller, a novel writer,
another, Is writing in that her last book about what it is to not

know how to be in the world. Eva Trout is tall as Bowen was,
very. Going to sleep this afternoon I felt as if lying on a
marble table top, with space underneath. Real rest some
distance below and I unable to pass into it. There was a man

in my dream who placed his hand on my shoulder, but I
cannot recall your words upon waking. My hand feels
uncomfortable and I notice how my fingers appear, bluish
purple after three hours cold. I take home yellow flowers,

careful on the tube. Sitting along from me, catches my eye,
catches my roses. On the roundabout today a cyclist was hit.
They took a long time in doing what they were doing. Firemen,
holding up a blue tarpaulin to stop the onlookers looking on.

A commotion I initially thought a fight, before we saw. Just a
bike, mangled, visible. Yellow, I could see that. Rack my brain
for a similar one. Stand until the alarm goes on my mobile that
tells me I have to leave for my exam.


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