driving around after dark, after my steno pad has closed; after the final click of the lens cover. i open the window and inhale cloves like a ghost, wrap a gloved hand around the steering wheel or the cup of petrol station coffee between my legs, burning my thighs. i drive past my first school, and it glows 1970s yellow. the crunchy metal swings are gone, the spider bars with flaking grey paint; there is no furrowed slide, wet with moonlight. the signs point traffic in different directions, and the playground is plastic and soft.

up past the houses of old schoolmates, the car hums and splits particles with chalky beams of light. i consider driving to the other side of the city to sit at the arrivals gate at the airport but instead lackadaisically flick a trail of ash out the window and turn further east.

lullabies, not quite before midnight. mellifluous female voices through the stereo system, i see through cockle-shells. and i can't sleep, i can't speak to you, i can't sleep like a prayer as i fold my hands like cold clay bivalves.

my brother and his mouth full of blood, gaping holes where the roots were beginning to grow. one day, i will write an album of one dozen songs, all titled with what i believe to be the most exquisite words. or perhaps a book of poems. crepuscular, mallard, arabesque, sullen, nacre, thistledown, thrush, chimes, fusty, oyster, macabre, milk, , ,