Thursday, 19 March 2015

Listening to Courtney Barnett

trees grow up there pure silver/you sleep in every morning and miss the dawn/miss lunch/the heart's full of nonsense and a jumble sale mind won't get you nowhere/you want to grow tomatoes?/time to get pro-active/till you get trouble breathing in/lie back while I call up the ambulance/quicker run you up there myself/it's only round the corner

The trees that grow round here are pure silver. While you're asleep the sunlight pours in as thick as honey. Your room looks gorgeous white and tidy. If only you could see it. We lay you out on the raised partition between their parking spaces and ours. Couldn't breathe till you held my hand.

She's the finest kooky cookie I've ever seen, he told me. Could hardly hear him, even as he interrupted my repose posings. Watching you sing. Against my will I was so wide-eyed I could feel my skin breaking. My face splits open and all feeling expands out away. I'm lost in an ever-extending pause. Your voice is an anchor.

Round the corner rabble-rouser. The rush of coffee-black blood is thumping against the insides of my head. I'm a million miles an hour. It's all icy silence. Under the streetlamp spotlight the tree's lit up like a silver skeleton.

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