Notes from the Dream-Confused Polar Bear, Oxford

Passing cars of different makes and colours
carrying rain from other islands

If I was to die
in the downpour of a well-loved red vintage car,
the tsunami of the 1965 Chevrolet
carrying us off the roof terrace
where we were watching an
antique parade

someone said,
crossing myself,
“you’re not coming away from this one”
I’m fine with this,
and do not expect to walk away but fly,

Or something the movies haven’t thought of yet.

Trees sit
passing each river to the ground,
parting curtains,
the sea-sky of straight unbroken lines,
into a million shot glasses
as an inadequate measurement, for the
annual precipitation
above a person’s
average head of soaking hair

the room that spoke,
the woman dressed up as a polar bear with splashes of joyful paint on her fur,
the emulsion on a canvas afterwards.

Waking up well is rare,
as an endangered bird somewhere, knows.
It is good to wake up ready
so surround yourself with pictures,
when it is the end
you will have to show not tell

The Military man of high standing
I don’t know,
clawing like pets were
his cats and his feet,
at scratching-post fir trees,
looking for a forest that is only represented
on behalf of the trees.

The sun rose over the voice that housed her,
melted glass.

And this is what I learnt from the polar bear.

As the polar bear is white
because she likes the snow,
to be seen out to sea
visible only to me
because it reflects the light

And I was happy to enter
past the ocean
where a polar bear,
where ice once stood
at her feet,
walks the horizon,
looking for,
equally confused and diminished
schools of fish.

I want to be weird and in love
and go with you to Oxford
to remain with our friendly strangeness
beset by the better spirits
like candle flames
sheltered by cool stone
in an old town,
with a wise, satirical sense of the truthful world
and its lies,
to leave any anxieties and paranoias behind
spitting over their own skeletons
in attempts to cool
the uncertain skins they shake in
in punts
as we board others,
aflame and in the opposite direction,
vomit one last time
under bridges
and pass through arches
of a fast food restaurant in an historic building.

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