you had a microphone
in your pocket
and a mouthful of glass

there were still
days and days
ahead of us

brightly lit streets and
sugar headaches

you whispered to me:
no one will
stop us now.

we were still at
version 1.0

by the time
you arrived
with munitions.

in the newspapers
teenagers were
atrophying

in the sky
the stars were
sinking.

veins that
rise over knuckles

a deaf syntax

digital cities built
on the spot.

***

you looked at me
the way an orphan might

& i would squeeze the sun from the sky
to thank you.

you wrote the city underfoot
with songlines
sixteen stories up

listening we stood still

as words formed around us

ancient maps of traffic and power stations.

you start to predict the weather
not for tomorrow,
but for centuries ahead

a walking tour
of streets that nobody treads

until somewhere in another suburb
I can hear you sleeping.

we waited there

until the sunlight disintergrated

*

you erected microphone stands

in every room in your house

*

we wanted to see

the code cracked

that night

you nursed your illness
like a baby

spending hours in the construction
of a complex algorithm
to plot the trajectory
of your own demise.

i placed flowers
in water

& paced the halls
of this institution
of desire.