“That’ll be the 6.35 from Melbourne”

I’ve been perambulating the same little circular world for some time now. I’d like to see, from the air, what my movements would look like if they were to be drawn in chalk. Would they be ovoid as I imagine they are – circular and yet, on occasion, attempting to reach a finer point but lacking the precision; the conviction?

Would seeing the shape of my earthly scratchings really encourage me to see how I should move differently? Or, as the case may be, move at all? Is moving in a grid more, or just as, productive? Or is it less, in the sense that it betrays your understanding of what is truly productive and efficient?

I’d  like to jump into an ovoid pool, and perambulate it (or, perhaps, circumambulate it!),  just to really,

really,

really see

what it is i’m

missing.

Perhaps all this talk of seeing this little world here from the air is explained by my deep, inexplicable (now explicable?) urge to live directly below the flight path.

My lover and I cock our heads awkwardly up at the low fliers, the trans-oceanic birds, those utterly unnatural “miraculous” creations, as we wait for our dog  to finish shitting and sniffing, as the sun rises over Victorian terraces. We let our jaws hang low, and I almost fear that one may quietly fly into my mouth while his back is turned. I could swallow the miracle of flight and

maybe

no one

would ever                                                                                                         know?

You know, if the timing was right?

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