you broke me in the most delicate way,
that even pain felt beautiful.

there is hope here            the morning sun
leaves loaves of warm light on the doorstep

after he left - leaving a letter –
she realised the room had no windows

the light claimed a green pear
as she drank sweet tea

at 10.09 she was required
to generate her own light:

*in Café Gigi she generated her own light

we think we understand gravity
we think it is weak
we assume some apples will fall

in fields of much less colour
the sound is flatter
the leaves are damper

gravity hangs too heavy on some
heavier than we think on some
or admit on some

it is natural to reduce it
we all know a guy who says
some apples just fall ka-plunk

and that's gravity   get over it!
knowing we can't actually
get over it

not really!
I know a guy who thinks
gravity works in multiple dimensions

and we can only account
for part of its strength
so the rest remains felt but unseen

That would explain the dimmer light
the clenched off drowning of sound;
that would explain this half-lit world!

the blurred nerves  in the going of motion…
I have adjusted accordingly.
I have a skeleton crew

to keep things ticking over
so I can take the weight
of all those other places.

You can run through to the end of it
pretend a bit that
the hurt eases,
pain ceases,
Strontium 89 has the line on it,
a chemical bite might
do the trick.

Or just go into exile
die once a day
for a while anyway, but
love's curt
tells you it's hurt
when you haven't a clue.

You can run through and pretend
or just end it
a bit like the lights going dim,
Knock, knock,
no answer
nobody's in.

We have to do it,
some are successful and
me,
I just blew it
straight through the red stop and the next stop's the last stop where the pit stop's the pit and you can go through to the end of it because no one will believe you when you tell them you blew it and who knew it,
not me.

Exile's a paradise,
but we still want to throw the dice for a double or quits or if and until the cap fits,
pretend for a bit.