Monday, 25 May 2015

1 New Poem


Some people find it easy,
walking on hay fever air and sun-shower
prismatics, spectrum reflection
in the summer youth of their
flight-pattern passions;

Oh, how kissed they must
have been to memory, or
in some supposition those
broken hours of waiting, waiting
in the light of half-cooling
computer towers, whirring away at
heavy-eyed hours, too much
content with silence sittings.

Couple quarters on a table-set
Ms. Pac-Man machine, rigged pinball
stapled camera lens to dock lighting
set-ups: how perfected, how false,

how hard it always could have been.

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