When the West forgot Asia

the fumade tinder box

ran out of fungi, or why else 

would we be so unluminous

Unpacking things I haven't seen

since that last house swap

I realise most everything I have

is designed to be sat with 

As if I've known deep inside

my love for speed this whole

time

As planets strip 

layers off me

I give up writing

my name in ice 

for I found a loophole 

to pull the known

through forgetting

Should have

I wish I did

But I'm here now

present

That's plenty

and also so 

beautiful

I stomped "No more

thirteen-hour days

during my winter cycle."

And paused

It's me, innit?

I can't not move

Next, more, again! 

and buckle in

When I burn out 

there will be fireworks