Wander Years - JLG Clift

I wander those waning years sometimes still seeking sanctuary weak of will from the woes of this week from the traps of my today looking for comfort in my misremembered moments of a yesterday years ago now my hopes sewn like seeds invisible into the sands of that time all those trips all those breaks all those tissues all those peanuted ties all those plaid skirts that split in the summer and showed slivers of thighs slights we found so tantric accidental flashes that drove us manic; all those shirts we’d swear were half buttoned gullible gluttons gawping at something that was never there to stare at beyond the optimistic ogles of our mutual mind’s eye; all those tattered catholic crests sloping over our puffed out chests and their unimpressed and resting breasts; all those little molehills made by us into mountains that haven’t stood the test of time untainted; all those forbidden and always bitter beers that we swore blind were just what the day called for through our wincing on a winter-worn wall in November rain red brick straining against the grainy green of ever-growing moss in Whetstone near our school near my home as we made fun of everything we saw our eyes glazed and glassy after half a can our smiles wide our laughs loud our words blue and booming blooming nothing we meant really ever all of us 16 and never feeling fresher; all of us full of spirit all through the evening feeling splendid for the night fighting flirting hurting no one really just being just seeing the sights just trying to be at the right place at the right time with all the wrong girls who made us curl in our chairs and miss our stops because we couldn’t stop staring at them on those journeys home; the girls that kept us awake when we were all alone who we’d hope would invite us in like sirens singing and searching for ships and sea men; girls to share our sighs to bare their skin to us and bear with us through our muffled and misguided meanders their hands steering ours clear of our pre-mature mistakes letting us learn on their shifting curves constantly the girls steading our hands through the nervous shakes all those apologies all those scraped knees all those unrealised opportunities to walk them to their door afterwards all those glimpses all those glances over shoulders during snogs as we took chances at the gates between classes between sets homeless for the night to dodge our parents’ sight with all the saints to our side and a disappointing metal band strumming away inside in the dim in the dark under unlit street lamps in each other in memory now all this hides ground glass among grains of scorched sand and who we were resides with it all my fears; all those moments we felt were so timeless, aged and caged in those wandering years that we walked away from towards a future full of fears that my tears cannot turn away:

The degree to the dole to the sink hole of suburban decay to a depleting O-Zone and a diminishing ability to finish breaths without wheezing and that queasy feeling when I’m reeling with the wrong person at the end a room away from a subterranean tomb my teeth stained my mind feigned fractured waiting to see if rapture reaps me looking through my life for something to keep me in my body in my bed and finding only echoes of being 16 in my head until my mind’s gone and my mouth moves through the motions to maintain a movie refrain my dying words a nonsense quote barely heard by the nurse who doesn’t remember my name without the chart she so artfully checks every time she sees me; the name of a sled I never owned.

 A lie

to mask the ones I say are true the ones where there was actually a you to address the ones where you were actually there in that bus by my side or in my sight or staring with me 'stylishly' stoic in our black blazers or not caring to look back in your simple summer dress. I confess to all: none of you were ever there to address or to caress but I couldn’t take the empty so I placed you there to deter the distress I felt.

It doesn’t matter now anyway, because I’m alone in a bed with a place for a pan and time spans behind instead of ahead today; panic sounds panels come down shocks shock ticks tock my chest rises and drops my toes curl my teeth clench my head swirls and I see the ceiling and I feel the healing and I feel the heart beating the heat back into my fingers as the life I wish I hadn’t led this way lingers leaving me here with a leer the taste of today as bitter as those beers but worse but real; the room clears of the underpaid double shift leaving me alone again as they always do to sift through this terrible present but I can’t anymore so I press a button, feel morphine pump through my collapsoing core, and I wander back to the wonder years that never were, thumb to the button, never for the truth to occur again.