by Ian Flatman
Maybe on the next sheet I crawl
out into a city welcoming the soft
belly of the love I refused to give
the animal of heat and dust thrown
from whatever street I place myself.
I’ll call it a sea of other people’s cars
the shiny glass eyes of whatever
buildings I want to remember, alive
for what I paint under their lights
and for people at windows ready to jump
onto what the dust settles upon
their myths back here with me, waiting
for the years to make sense with me
weaving myself through them, waiting
as someone I couldn’t love leaves.
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Ian Flatman lives in Canberra, Australia where he writes and builds gardens. You can find more of his writing on twitter @PartyAunty. He will fly to your country to design a garden for you. Why not? Got anything better to do?