By | 1 October 2020

Headlines nurse a generation of cynics and madmen with microphones,
Hope is out of fashion, except when Twitter’s watching, and
post-truth politics are in. I’m too tired for trends, though.
Maybe god lost his faith a long time ago, but
I still believe
in those lured outside by the rumour of rain
and four a.m. fog on the city,
who leap off speeding trains, hear silence, walk directionless
yet always end up collapsing on the shore, homesick
and heart-mad.
I still believe
in old fools out on their verandas, chewing evening nepenthe,
their grief a living testimony that history still exists, however
shriveled and beaten.
In quiet lives spent trying to dive deeper,
expelled to the surface by shortness of breath
just when they thought they finally had it –
that they finally understood it. Returning to land
only to grapple with smoke, still convinced they can forge it
into being, and forge being into
I still believe in art,
and hope,
and resistance,
and you.

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