alexander mclauchlan
Bipolar
Swear to God,
Christmas Eve ‘round eight, I saw the Northern Lights.
The greenish blue ones, teal,
Shattering moist dark like porcelain.
The way passes through, if silently.
One axe handle hews another.
Moths bite and I reject (fear)
Their wings all lovely. Come again one more time I am
Not joking and
There are no games to be played just watch
Please watch.
We’ll be in my kitchen.
This life is no narrative. Only matter.
Alexander McLauchlan (He / They) is a writer and student based on the traditional, unceded territories of the Lək̓ʷəŋən and W̱SÁNEĆ peoples (Victoria, British Columbia). He writes film criticism for ODDCRITIC, and has previously had poetry published in Milk Bag Magazine.