The Night Life
There is a part of me
that cannot figure out
how it is we ever got here–
you already divorced at twenty-five
and the pair of us thumbing lifts
up and down the Mesoamerican coast
we have imagined as escape.
Where bad ice has made us sick
and not the zero-hour
drinking sessions with people
off-handedly travelling the world,
staking claims to real estate
beyond the bounds of credit
or the merely physical.
No matter how tough the bodies,
how overrun with plastic fibres,
how swollen with cancer,
to beat no more
than exactly a billion times,
if unhindered,
is the only application of the heart.
written by Will Burns,
part of the album „Chalk Hill Blue“
with Hannah Peel