A Rubix Cube Dancefloor Shark Attack

A Rubix Cube Dancefloor Shark Attack

I drop whiskey rocks and admire the neon lacquer walls.
You don’t focus on décor, only the dance flock and spot her.
She is an ex-primary school mate, with naked pictures online.
We approach, but lose her in a flaying limb-crowd of friends.
You say her legs would make a nice neck scarf.
They swallow her up with shapes and colour shifts.

I drink from jukeboxes to grow kaleidoscope vision.
You tell me to stop singing and pull me to break beats.
She bumps into us, doesn’t recognise, but says sorry with hips.
We forget how to speak. Bass lines do wingman talk for me.
You tell me to get a drink for all her friends, wink and grind.
They notice I don’t have enough hands, laugh and let you in.

I am addicted to liquid coping mechanisms and barmaid company.
You are too good at arranging sleepovers.

Skydive

My parachute bones fall faster than sound,
I jumped without light at nightfall.

I stand up here to
make Rio de Janeiro
jealous of my fall.

I love with everything at the end of my wrists,
arms outstretched, wind in my palms, saying hello
to the ground that I will angel-hug, a dent
of my body in an open embrace, a tableau of fall.

Cloud break scores my skin as I tell
a skydiver to look up more. He shouts
to not bother him, he has always plummeted.
It’s safer this way, easier to ignore the sun
weighing him down, while he wishes for a waterfall.

Donation

A man put his one, two, threes in me
and counted like a child learning clocks.
He gave me the leather handshake and squeezed
as two women in white coo to calm.
I flush out what is to be tested
to know if I am to stop crossing my legs
or riding my bike, whether I’ll be
a naked Hitler, if I’ll ever get to meet
people on a personal level and teach
them life as I learnt it. He stops
counting and all of me is in a beaker,
spinning frantic in cloud syrup,
wondering if they’ll ever meet eggs,
or become part of me in blankets.