Friday, 12 June 2015

1 New Poem

A Dialogue On Alone

“You'll know one day,
when you spend your last fourty forints
on one-way crosstown trolley tickets,
tracing fingers on red line maps
with no way backwards through the
Warsaw pact cables and Ascension Treaty steel,

with no real plan except for saying
you love like a Sainsbury's Christmas ad,
like a 3-star hotel lobby hymnal.”

But, will you, did you ever?
Having never seen the building sides
in Bucharest, the shoulder-wide shimmer
of Gatwick train tracks?

“How would, too, yourself,
bereft of all shading, ambition, embittered,
but for the longing of fractured hair strands;
does it not make the same, in the end?”

It does, a bit;
I care not.

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