Child Folding Into the Cracks of the World...

As I walked along Beech, past the overgrown driveway of a bungalow and it's lounge where I once idled with girls and drink, cigarettes and tea, I started having visions, juvenescent recollections. My Primary School where wattle used to make my skin itch.. the streets of my Estate that seemed huge, so limitless, carrying my eyes to the other side of town- the summers on my bike felt like I was peddling worlds away.. the dewy tonic of untainted sunny June mornings.. the fog and chimney smoke undressing me in delicate night aromas, marinating the meat of my physical deep to the ethereal - the potpourri of winter night.. buddy lines after recess for rollcall in front house where God lived in a 14ct tabernacle, it creaked and moaned whenever I entered it (Moira and my mother used to clean the altar on a roster).. I drift away on the memories, I almost forget that I am walking. Walking under southern autumn clouds stirring silently partially opening up the sky all parcel-like, easy thighs are open for midnight madness all lotus-like in a purple horizon, near the Beech Street bridge above the creek that feeds the mouth of wetlands, one day it fed the heavens with a child and a heart attack. The Beech Street bridge was an intriguing gloom of concrete shelter for ruinous youths scribbling cocks and goats with paint-pens. It's been so long I almost forget what's underneath it. The only bridge on Beech, the lonely one, right near the Star Mart where we stole dirty magz and flicked through them behind the Church next door feeling all grown-up, while shadowed by our naivety. Oh our unruly sex and cuss brains.

I've walked my ghost all around this town, it was once the centre of my universe. Nothing mattered but butterflies and water fights, cinemas and junk food, who had the coolest bike and skate. Now all that matters is what you can salvage from old memories, how to survive life and an apocalypse, and the enigmatic chase of company to kill boredom and loneliness - romance is not dying alone, and love is the veil.
I want to know all these other humans, I want to know what they're about and what they want. I want to dig the unconcerned, dig all the passion, the shit, the spirited ones, the blondes, the dark hairs, the wild ones, the old ones, the goodsouls. All these strangers shuffling through the mambo of life in the occasional lackluster trashcan moon rotation, the occasional stupefying vacation of grandeur and splendor, til the drop.