Cruel Summer Track

Poem below. It's part of a small collection of seven.

Please be extremely brutal if you think it's shit.

Feedback 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8z89wr/mormon_witching_hour/e2jghsw/?context=3

Feedback 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8z40xm/calories_burned/e2jfkzv

Cruel Summer Track 1

Copy in the gutter and in the bleed. Watching a toddler waddle into the road and doing nothing.

You realize that to be any other way than lightly beer-pissed hurts.

I sing a hymn to the present every day but today the drum and bass is relentless.

Threatened by the microagression of a phone call punctuating a foggy afternoon. Sun pressures me to stroll around in my t shirt and laugh.

But I’ve always felt more comfortable in the winter air.

I haven't cried in five years, stay low and get your money.

I

Know

I

Fall

Short

But

I

Just

Don’t

Know

How

Else

To

Be.

I used to ride my bicycle with one eye on the dip, Brinkman.

I’m in it and I can’t get out.

Walking teary-eyed with Sufjan in my ear between giant green skyscraper trees. I’m cool catatonic with the cacophony of snarks and snaps circulating in my brain.

I'm not thinking of anything. But did they mean to go without me?

Just my breath. I was a weird kid. The sensation of the breathe entering my nose. Why do I feel this so faintly?

I wish this plane would fucking crash.

But still, when you got home, I climbed on top and drove it inside yet you say ‘ what's the point?’

Yeah they were going to be so beautiful, we bought them a house but now all we have is an empty room where we dry our clothes.

You struggle too/ but you find a way to muddle through. I'm trying to make two branches connect but I'm constantly reaching out and finding nothing.

On the eighth week of this miserable odyssey I'm calling for landscapes, Carravagios, the greatest ideas of our times. But they don't exist.

She said ‘you're only good for aiming your dick a certain way’ as he sucked the arse of a cigarette and fantasised about the relief of a diagnosis. He made a mistake and it made him feel bad. Blushing, swearing and looking for someone to blame. A room of concerned eyes turned towards him and offered to help but he just wanted to be he, with no interference.

Fail secretly in your twenties.

I remember when she said ‘but you're always fucking trying.’ How can I help you? Is there something I'm doing wrong? No, it’s fine, it's me, I’m sorry.

So, here I am. Hot and sad on a crowded train shitting out nuggets of bad poetry.

I just drank some water whilst sitting next to a fan blowing cool air over me and it felt amazing like jumping feet first into a cool, clean outdoor pool on a warm holiday morning. I will do this several times again today.