it's hard to say meaningful things
Kirsty Logan

the sky was so low then you could bump your beehive but you were both into
that, formica diners & drive-thru, chilli burgers & soda fountains but your
shitty northern english town was just pylons & skipping records. you dreamed
of maraschinos & spats. your big sister burned incense & your brother
smelled of socks & you passed the glenn's bottle around the circle &
your mother's stolen marlboro lights burned the rug.

you're out. you're in the big city now. breathing in dreams & scudding
clouds & tits are tits after all so who cares if your tattoos stretch out?
& the rain of course, & pints always halfway. you fall out of bar after bar,
alleys & backstreets & strangers' sweaty sheets. club flyers blow autumnal
round your ankles. bitter taste of ibuprofen in sweet dry casings. in
the morning
the clouds are sinuous & long, like sand after a retreating tide.
china-blue sky,
urn-red chimneys bright with graffiti. tarnished windowsills.

in the fat red night snagging the corner of his eye how light you seemed how
weighty your steps. move your hand away from the kettle. check your pulse.