Status Update

 

Status update: Shirts and skins, shoes and shins, fists and chins.

Status update: I didn't go down. I didn't go down. I kept my

cool with my blood in a pool in my hands to keep it off my ski

jacket.

Status update: I said just walk away and he walked, metabolic

power dripping from my nose into my hands, not touching the

seat, the driver trading jokes through the relaxation in his

accent, wondering why it is still this easy.

Status update: objects in a mirror are closer than they appear.

There is only a fantasy of the absence of cycling. I should not

be here, and I want to be somewhere else.

Status update: life is good. What if I could write myself

something to stand on when I need to extend my reach? Or

write a cologne which sweetens my desires and dreams before

they reach out to touch your nose, your cheek, your days of

the week?

Status update: Status dated up. Dated status. Status UP! Power

nap. POW! Were you there? Did you see? Can you describe

without prejudice, the reason the girl with the star tattoo is the

sweeter of the two? The one for you?

Status update: Watched a good video and a bad one. Do you

enjoy following my eyes as they wander past the best and the

worst like store windows, or neighbors' porches, or the

bathtubs of librarians' flats across the river?

Status update: Status dated up. Shoes and shins, shirts and

skins, the bottle spins.

Status update: Here's some links to work out the kinks, but if it

were my hands...but they stick like the last few minutes of hot

water before the polyester shirt, the courteous flirt, shoes and

shins, shirts and skins...

Status update: I'm on vacation, my occupation a fading

sensation of virtue, leaving raw and sweating smiles fading to

exhaustion and a cigarette, and a question about tomorrow, and

a snarl at the encroaching weakness and the love which fuels it.

Status update: There's gonna be a show before I leave. I have

to go, but I know they'll just raise the ransom on our fading

families, as our dreams get torn off our rooftops with the

shingles and installers, cracked in the sun, flaking off under our

fresh collars and war-stories.

 

Status update: My phone is dead - find me online.

Status update: My hard-drive crashed - use my phone.

Status update: Come find me and take me away.

I was never good at hiding while providing, or deciding, or

abiding in a tyranny which is not my own.

Status update: They cut the line - and it was my favourite line.

It could never really be mine.

Status update: A morning cough, or a delirious dream, or a full-

moon scream, waking in a panic forgetting to breathe, migrating

to the couch to contain the nuisance of irrational fury and

shame, tasting your name in a whisper, flexing our compromises

out of my shoulders and fingers.

Status dated up, stapled through my knees reaching for a hand-

hold in a gust, thinking that I must,

striving for this precarious trust-

shirts and skins, shoes and shins, jumps and spins, maps and

pins, prayers and sins: Status dated up.

Status remembers your smile which came so easy once you

knew you had already fallen, now you're ready to take us all

with you.

The dream and the scream are on the same team.

Status UP! Date up or date status. Dated status.

Status update: I didn't lose my cool as my blood fell in a pool in

my hands.

I told him to just walk away and he walked.

I had to let him walk, because I knew from experience it was not

myself that I needed to protect.