Delirium
through back streets
and alleyways,
on a dérive, cartographically
drawn to gum-blasted pavements,
where our heels
synced with each other,
things are now
shivering, leaves
with a lustre,
dreams trespassing
their edges,
shadowing skyscrapers,
cafes we fled —
this weight of serendipities, intense
anti-epiphanies
in the city’s cleft
of grief
where all traces decimate,
and I am
a mystic,
emotions dislocated of names —
thank fuck,
the sunset is speaking,
on this occasion, you’re sane.
