It's summer again, but
I've been barefooted since February, April, maybe. The natural
way of things, trailing dust through the house, washing feet at
night just before slipping into bed - wait - open the window
Just a tad, to get some air flow. Muggy London doesn't beckon much
Perhaps I've been away too long, left a part of me there, missing bits
Scattered around the continents, bits of land claimed, names, words
Boundaries, creating jagged ravines between one face and another -
Two eyes here, two eyes there, one nose, one mouth, the same -
Add words, and names - there you have it, there's difference.
I'm here but not here - floating halfway up, halfway down -
A foot in London, a toe in France - in Canada, half a head.
Spain has most of my spine, but my heart is scattered, unwhole.
Holey. Phoney. This room strewn with objects. Aloe in a bottle,
The Texas mug, full of pens, the wall, covered in postcards and photos,
saying, this is my life, this is me, I have thoughts, I have friends -
Behind, the radio, with it's faceless voices, swirling around me at night
Alone but not alone. Books, in piles, on shelves, on the bedside table.
All these signs of me. Pieces to decipher. The whole world and this small room.
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