Burn baby, burn

The American dream crashing, burning.

We accept reality so readily we no longer dream of big shiny smiles, flying cars and the ecstasy of a new love – we pray no one dies today we pray nothing burns today.

I drink my coffee, switch to whiskey and jazz wondering

how the universe can contain so much tranquillity and rage simultaneously.

Under Peckham sunlight and beams of the burns of the Sun this morning is as GLORIOUS as ever despite the potential and eventual end of time.

Every person feeling a feeling hiding it behind delirious existences, I’m going – I’m starting - to chase people down the street like a lunatic

I’ll chase them and make them all confess to me and to each other.

The unbearable lightness of beings around the world was so light

I could float around and inside all that vanity endlessly and just sob and cry and

SHOUT

and nobody would notice - I try to escape this inadequate version of a sci-fi movie, I leave the party way too early,

I am home I hide

under cheap duvets and dream of saving people, I can’t even save myself.

We go back to childhood games, memories of swinging in the back yard anticipating our birthdays, worried about grades at school and the types of lives we imagined ahead – Where has all this gone? What do I do? What do we all do?

We burn each other and save each other at the same time, we are everything – each object and event in the world consists in us,

there might be more beautiful times ahead but this one is ours.

Days, nights, seasons, wars and eras pass by in an instant, the time when I was rude and she was annoying

I look at her – she’s cold she can’t get the fireplace to work she can’t do anything

I want to teach her to do everything, make her see beyond the ruins and leftovers of the latest fire, everything flows and it’s real: journeys of struggle and tormented laughter, tears and waves of extremes so HIGH

higher than the highest mountain peaks higher than the sky and the Earth and further up until there is nowhere higher to go

Rocks and icebergs collide inside me unifying the rare London sun and her evaporating intensity

but if we weren’t burning we were dead and I’d rather burn,

burn, burn.