Blank Media Collective

Bloukranz by John Leyland

I've been shuffled to the edge
my toes have tipped
the flipped horizon of the valley.

You don't notice the rope
'till it slips from your ankles
and tugs at the breath
you have left.

There's a guy asking me
where I slept last night
what music I like
but I'm not thinking
Talking Heads, Knysna Heads,
Port Elizabeth drug den slums,
I can't think of what I did
last night or what I'm doing
right now or looking down
or that desperate woman
yellow-eyed and writhing, how
she showed me how
to hold the special pipe and inhale.

You don't notice the rope
'till it slips from your ankles
and there's the tug,
the breathless panic
and up! Rewinding,
weightless.

The sky is distant brown
flowing estuary and dusty
luscious bush rotating, silent
as the tension
in the cord
slackens.