Monday, March 25, 2013


I'm not sure. Getting there, I think, but not quite? Ayudame!


Buy the Standard
for fifty p.
Tuck it into your armpit
as the escalator
into fluoro lights
and tiled walls.
Slide it down
to your lap as your
upper arms
as - the upper arms
of Dreads
and a City boy.
Hold it loose
in your
as the stairs
past the bright lights
To the steps
To the street
To the sky stick it under your arm
past the park,
through the trees.
And when you pocket your key
and cock your hip to the left
and the door swings shut
and the newspaper thuds
and the small wheels squeak,
You slide your shoes off
at slow once.
Circle all the words
that wriggle,
then lift
and swirl
with dust motes wondering
by your hairs.
If the grey light kisses
a word, pull it down,
coax it into the white.
Watch it carefully,
with parted lips.
As the word
slips with caution
across the ice.
If the grey light kisses
a word, it is
ready for better
than a world of
and parks.


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