February 2015 (2)

15 February 2015 at 15:02 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , , )

his P.O. Box was
a perfect rectangle
for hiding
convenient to reach
he was dreaming
it is a silky uptown hotel
he can scarce afford
checked in often
arriving from a world
of fags and booze for petrol
smoke-screened spaghetti junctions
junk food coating his spirit
with a rejection film

each check-in was marked
by a repetitive desire to enter
the alternative
own keeper
free to design
his insulation absorbed sounds
glad to let go:
a newspaper’s bang each morning
tension condensing between lovers
silent language filling to the brim

midday check-out
used to betray
where the inner world ends
and the other begins
he paid with cash
as no one lives anywhere for free (28th January 2015)

Permalink Leave a Comment

February 2015 (1)

15 February 2015 at 14:58 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , , , , )

peep out sometimes
from underneath own lampshade
to take a close up
on a passers-by route to non-being
their screwing up eyes
smear walls with anger
while pigeons
shit greasily on the pavement

shame, they can’t be asked
where they go to
why each evening resembles
a ceasefire
with hope
drying out over and over again
is keeping a good appearance No. 1 thing?

passers-by are not so German in approach
that is to say
hesitate when it comes to giving orders
hands suffocate in non-negotiable salute
ready to follow orders
than take action in own hands
slight shift from submissive
to curious appears at night:
to know if they are alone in bed
send a foot in search
only to find despair by their side

the stream of passers-by walk through us
they’d rather put away
pain-filled tears into a lunchbox
ignore cold blooded politicians
plotting how to introduce
more rates next year
men for the sake of getting a living
forget to live
do you see it
from underneath your own lampshade? (27th January 2015)

Permalink Leave a Comment