the days are getting longer without my permission
I wish it was always nighttime.
Dark, so when I opened my eyes, I’d always see the lights first, the neon, LED shadows flickering on and off, sirens, fluroscent lip marks on albert st cheeks, one big exit sign hanging over the city– where there’s always something happening, little firemen in pyjamas snoring alphabets, cats learning how to speak, hands swung between cranes, love-books being read under signs selling meat, hide and seek with no winners, hair always stuck between your teeth, smoke always smelling like a fortnight ago– everything shines here, ears and toes and even the little shake in my fingers, the phonies and the middlemen and the children and the priests and the dogs left tied to the outdoor tap and the ghosts you used to believe in and the handprints on the kitchen bench, a million and one twinkling foreheads basking in the empty sun of midnight, dreaming themselves silly, dreaming themselves into dark places, dreaming themselves screaming and barelling into the open sun.
