‘Go on,
Tell me to imagine the unimaginable’,
I say
Silently
As I look at you
Over miles of yesterdays
And tease a grain of pollen
From next year
To haze your eyes
And spring new beginnings
Into a weekend of closed doors.
Tell me to imagine the unimaginable’,
I say
Silently
As I look at you
Over miles of yesterdays
And tease a grain of pollen
From next year
To haze your eyes
And spring new beginnings
Into a weekend of closed doors.
I want you
To will me
To defy the laws of physics
And nostalgize about the taste of
Tomorrow’s strawberries.
To travel oceans balancing on my tongue-tip,
Slip never into now, like water sliding off an otter’s back.
To lean in
And smell sweat on me
From adventures that haven’t yet been itinerised,
Down paths unbuilt
Behind hedgerows still unpicking themselves from summer.
To will me
To defy the laws of physics
And nostalgize about the taste of
Tomorrow’s strawberries.
To travel oceans balancing on my tongue-tip,
Slip never into now, like water sliding off an otter’s back.
To lean in
And smell sweat on me
From adventures that haven’t yet been itinerised,
Down paths unbuilt
Behind hedgerows still unpicking themselves from summer.
You ask me how I am
On the jaundiced oblong of my phone
And the question is too whole and round, I have nowhere to escape
So I wait
Then reply later
In a square font
With sharp jokes
And endless corners to hide in
On the jaundiced oblong of my phone
And the question is too whole and round, I have nowhere to escape
So I wait
Then reply later
In a square font
With sharp jokes
And endless corners to hide in
And instead
I secretly whisper into the year
Asking permission
To take us back to times when the future seemed
Open
Like fabric laid out for a jacket uncut
Ready to be made to size
I secretly whisper into the year
Asking permission
To take us back to times when the future seemed
Open
Like fabric laid out for a jacket uncut
Ready to be made to size
Even though I know full well that these pasts of flowers and berries and other cliches
Are things I don’t even remember myself
Because they’re not mine.
They’re textbook good-old-days
That don’t exist
Are things I don’t even remember myself
Because they’re not mine.
They’re textbook good-old-days
That don’t exist
Or perhaps they just haven’t happened yet.
In these runny times
Of soft boiled stats
And dippy politicians’ lines
It’s tempting to tease facts for answers
Play logistician and
Arrange feelings into
Shipments and arrivals and sell by dates;
Reduce oneself to a reduced shelf
Of mismatched ingredients
Hedge bets
Sell shares
Cut losses
Save the cat.
Of soft boiled stats
And dippy politicians’ lines
It’s tempting to tease facts for answers
Play logistician and
Arrange feelings into
Shipments and arrivals and sell by dates;
Reduce oneself to a reduced shelf
Of mismatched ingredients
Hedge bets
Sell shares
Cut losses
Save the cat.
Really I think
We just want to know that things will be OK.
We just want to know that things will be OK.
But OK doesn’t fall from
The sky like a rain drop.
The sky like a rain drop.
And neither does knowing,
I suppose.
I suppose.
Even the rain needs the whole inconceivably improbable glory of the world to exist at all.
We can study the science of clouds,
Moonlight as meteorologists
Astrophysicists
Statisticians
Biologists
We can weigh ourselves down with facts, to lift ourselves up with understanding
Moonlight as meteorologists
Astrophysicists
Statisticians
Biologists
We can weigh ourselves down with facts, to lift ourselves up with understanding
But to grasp the improbable?
For that we need imagination.
For that we need imagination.
