(Outside) of Actions
Wrapping tube lines in awkward movement
Tying tyre flesh in yellow
Feet thinking fast and past you,
Toes poise in anticipated pausing, but push on.
My threaded thoughts tangled in your cellophane wind.
M168 sings like winged feet through lips embroided to the throat of your chant,
I follow the encased, suit,
to St Pauls and back
You are patient. And its raw in a cheap because its wholesome way.
I wrestle my tire on a grated triangle, fucking my knees, it loosens and thrusts.
The swinging is aggressive and exhausting, I swing in time to you,
Your blinded and barefooted. Limbs in circles. Everything is open and bleeding.
I see you as/on/the/we/are triangle,
submissive and medative
I lift my circle high and watching lines of genetics map out from yours, achingly open
so astride now I watch the spit being pulled out by the city
And I try and balance, us.
You move towards me but not to me
You struggle towards me and to me
and I'm thinking about how my skin felt fighting this city
Dragging possessions and possessing circles,
teetering. Taken then falling.
It was mine and you left it,
It seems so silly now.
I go and see a film night about home.
I wonder when this ends.
you offer to carry us but I'm passive aggressive
but it is mine.
I think about swapping sides but I don’t want it between us.
Pounding pavements rubber bruising swelling into love, nestled on hips.
You are my stilettos and that is not for sale, not now.
He said, delivering letters they said, carrying on your shoulder causes stress.
I don't think its stress just pushing on knotted thoughts and releasing,
What it is is solace in motion.
is a home,
but wedged between us its cushioned and interrupted,