Hostels

Hostels

are the coolest

and loneliest

places.

Love is a wave

that rolls towards or away

from us,

depending on which direction we face.

Or some shit like that.

Better to know how to float

than have learnt how to swim.

Or some shit like that.

Hostels

are the coolest

and loneliest

things

and mantras

are much the same.

It's what we do

I refuse to sleep on road trips

in case the car goes rogue

and there’s time to pull the handle

                                and throw myself to safety.

I’ll play those odds

though keeping alive

means getting old

and laying friends to rest,

though keeping alive

means further scars along

the spirit flesh of the heart.

It’s what we do.

We take the blows

for spaces between the blows

lending chances to laugh with mates,

to kiss a lover,

to read a quote or two.

Not much else. It’s bittersweet, really,

               

                but worth it.

Delight,

at junctures in every breath,

walks the gallows

but hangmen take sickies too.

It’s bittersweet

but we keep ourselves alive for little else.

It’s worth it though.

I don’t know why

but it is.

October 16, 2018

My housemate lands his share

of women newly divorced.

I see them stumble out his room at 8am.

My Facebook feed is full of albums

of recent weddings

—where the stories begin.

My housemate’s room is messy.

No albums feature my housemate’s messy room

—where the stories,

so often,

end.