Saturday, 17 May 2014

(Poem) An A for Amnesia


pear-shaped silhouette
meets compound pulsing insect eye
aglow from shadowy tessellated rafters
singed retinae and smoking cochlea
and the sweetsmoke smell of the nineties
16-hole doc stomping
jackbooted German gyrotechnothump
blaring out through every crack
of the nicotined plaster walls

and here I am, trying to figure out
how to manoeuvre in this space
and how to be alone in a crowd
and not to carry the countenance
of washed up refugee status in a tide of desperation

I was never a natural born killer
a twisted firestarter
or the son of a black hole
I never smelled of teen spirit
or fucked like an animal
and the beautiful people
always dwarfed my steeple
and E was just another letter of the alphabet
somewhere between C the consequences and Y the fuck not
I only ever rode the edges
of a wave that never truly formed before rolling back

will it stick this time?
long enough for me to find my way
I hope so
this time I know what I'm doing
I think

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