My good friend from We Buy Balloons has asked me to share this poem he wrote, and since I am doing little writing of my own, and because I felt it was quite good here goes. It has no title, so feel free to make some suggestions:
it's an early moon, yellow and low in the sky and out before dark.
i head into hills,
my headphones playing something
i've listened to before but need to hear again.
i lock my bike at the foot of the canyon
and begin my way up the mountain.
i can feel it thickening across everything,
a scrim that brings the world closer
but conceals something i can't quite name.
an hour later,
i'm staring down at the spot,
the tiny spot
where i stood before.
i can see across the whole city,
to a band of highway,
white lights and red lights swimming past each other,
a low pitch whirring in the dark.
i've stood here so many times,
skimming the city at night. but never like this.
right now, i can barely remember a single detail that matters,
a speck of how it all connects.
i try to remember why i've come here,
what it is i'm supposed to see.
it won't last much longer,
my bearings will soon come traipsing back,
but for the moment, for this single second, there is nothing that gives me a clue.
i am detritus. washed up to shore.