no idea wot
to do
posh dinner room/nice
wine
is
left in the
big glasses/warm
still tempting
still as mill ponds
of blood
theres coke baubles
by the
rubber
placemats/tiny
marbles discarded
invisible in the hurry
and blur
i
stand hearing TV fade
in and out
& buses hum and
rattle
too tall and orange
inside
& men in the
street talk drunk too loud -
i stand
in the
dinner room
of lined wood and antique
tile
i
once watched scrub up
clean
sit in the
bay window now-
rain drips hectic and
wind blown
out of
the broken busted
gutter/look like bombs and tv static snow
cars sound off like
fog boats
behind a leafy
wall of wood squares
bought
summers ago and
hammered up with beers
patio is slick
like
when we
hosed the birdshit
off
for
a party
that boiled itself
into my memory/there
was a month long buzz
of blind flying optimism
(SHHH!)
because it crashed .
. .
flowers
nod agreeing with the
rain
in
the brown boxes
on the
window sill of
chipped paint and forgotten full ashtray
of
spliff ends brown and
dirty white
i
think
maybe
i’ll burn out soon -
torn like tissue and
fragile as dozer plastic
a paper ribbon
after
a kids party/down by
the skirting board
with the cake crumbs
-
burn out
my
meek hungry blood
nose
bitten
calmly and compassionately
abandoned
i sit in bay windows
all over town
alone
under
one hundred planes a
hand span apart
no idea wot to do
but line this pad
with late scribbles
like curled spiders
legs
& i allow
loose dreaming
to beg
my tears of epic self
pity
out
to tickle slow as
cows
down my numb cheeks
drugs
and my Efforts
fly epic
for
me
in dark evening
dreams of skies of embankment trains
& my wet coat dried
in
4 seconds
underground
at Bank
when i was Motivated
Trying and
marching
blindly
towards poorly hidden
laughter and clear directions home
i was
moving then-
MOVING
thru the
city then/to a girls flat
i’m static now
and
don’t know
which nothing to do
No comments:
Post a Comment