phone notes 8

5 am with your girl gang and boys in black on the
intersection of brunswick and ann
in the back of my mind  with hands
soft around my waist  with the uncertain 
tell me you love me andrepeatrepeatrepeat
the unelectric with safety belts on and straight with 
chemically balanced 
craniums

phone notes 6

some
ungodly early hour of the morning escapism: the sequel.
when you’re left-hand side always
right beside the wall
always baby sleeping in the corner always
reach out for the sliding–no
double doors this time
actual verandah not balcony
with the actual house not apartment and still
purse lips and distance towards the kitchen withhhhhhhhhh
why is it always silent and
deafening and stop thinking
your troubles and worries and
ageing stresses too overgrown for me
slow down like reaching for the top shelf
on tip toes i can’t      reach

cassava

“maybe i think you work too much,” she says
and knows she’s right.   so there’s this little curse imposed upon
and maybe it’s justice or maybe it’s irony or maybe it’s
the universe  always being funny
/
there used to be dreams atop blue bedsheets
with no headboards and dirty left-walls with feet imprints
still lovers who never want to get up early              is this       justice?
think about irregular family dynamics
“you can stay at home you know”
but i know he doesn’t care for femuhnism just wants to not
do things
/

fathima

they are called pick up trucks here– not utility
and we sit in the middle because we’re older
gotta make sure the kids go home safe
like hybrid station wagon with a closed behind and that tiny sunroof
low tier international school for the low tier
expats with brown mothers and white-less dads
so if you’re not half white here what are you?
if you’re full blood here what are you
and i see how everybody else prefers
the ones closer to double triple f-ers
pick them out as little girls
and wait for them to blossom

we all meet for prayer every afternoon
on the top floor of the main building like
penthouse parties but we praise allah in the midday sun.
with bellies full and listen to the creak of the rusty swing set
they cant afford to buy a new one just yet
low tier international school for the low tier
immigrant families and low key
lovers under the tamarind tree
and boys that are too cool for me
chased around table arrangements
and spoke languages neither of us
could speak

and so she whispers treachery into my ear
and ducks the imaam’s watch when we
destroy god and colour in the same breath
the cool boys never wanted me when i
blushed behind their northern skin
we’re mostly the same kind but he’s just passing
and so she whispers treachery into my ear
in the middle of hybrid pickup station wagon
almost three times a week after school
on the ride home
injects sceneries into my soul
and kissed me without
thinking

imaam takes glances, i get off with earthquakes
in my kneecaps  her icicle fingers lined my back
know she’s back home in west africa
with a husband and a child like her sister
occasionally dots the message bar with a red flag
and i’ll always be a low tier expat
with a white-less dad

You Can’t Hurry Love (Hello, I Must Be Going! 2016 Remastered) –

there is a sixty-four gb microsd in the cavities of my cellular
and vodafone has ceased to reach this corner of the eastern coast.
not quite the full 1700 kilometers .     this is only south-central.
sugarcane-less,            sub-tropical
with dropped off     reception zones
you text when you’re driving all the time with the help of
the other provider, this shouldn’t be public
shouldn’t be published,   she said–      love don’t come easy
it’s  a   game of      give and take      when the
plastic, internal   and i’m tired and can’t read maps
and snap,      no,  you just have to wait
not quite the full 1700 kilometers, only south-central

phone notes 4

so is this stab sounds, little prickle of a splinter
with sandpaper tongues,
acid fingers
when you didn’t have to
so when im on the train up to the north and count tree trunks it trickles
and think about lovers that aren’t us but
my lover now and his former like
who the fuck wrote this
separate road trips and
fell in love with a hand brake inbetween but disengaged
and opposite,
unsubtropic
so when im on the train down to the south and count tree trunks it trickles
set up camp with other people with driver’s licenses and
equally four month expiry
little bit column a, bit of column b
and let it rush with no build up
mothers that like the other more
still warm colours from country souls so we’re mirror image
a command r for me and f4 for yours,
truly

phone notes 2

how does it feel like now with
clipped toenails and
hair growth. a 365 revolution for sure
sales stint triple halved    effort
how do we write in paragraphs,     orange
and red intertwined  i almost mouthed
a dead name star in white gas  not supernova
in sunken hollows of movie seats with Ryan Gosling the
jazz pianist.   we  ride in the backseat of your roommate’s
car and i’m finally not scared in your roommate’s car
and don’t panic and make mistakes and take time and
buy superglue.  for the circles that overlap
so stop hanging out with people from my school
and their brothers. normie friends with sail croatia
ventures.     we  sit  on the steps of your birthday boy’s
queenslander and think of the sun staying back a bit later
holding hands in four thousand five
think of when   it knocked off early for me to partake in
grilld betrayal. brand unloyal. lamb wasn’t so bad and you get
50% off but always 100% for me

>

please i want the lampposts to-
—no. the lampposts does not know all
and borders don’t know all and borders don’t dictate
and meters don’t vibrate with the foot steps and the stride
the small and the wide, yours, i
know
the bus rides are slow and not as frequent just another riverbend section
you are not
location centered
fed off coordinates
not drawn in
borderlines
something more
but we walk loads so we take it slow
and not turbulent.   freeflowing
good. yes. fuck
think about all the great love stories
written with the ink of kilometers on the freeway
think about how i       always seem too young and too
unprepared for them     strike through
epilogues
stained with soles