9.46 to Yarmouth
The nine forty six to Yarmouth
points itself at the sea and
rolls towards the darkness
where the horizon used to be
A night in Leicester
The abacus is not a machine.
It seems.
Tony is not a cheater.
It seems.
Gorilla is not a meat.
It seems.
The nature of Dave is repeats.
Saddam is dead.
Robin is not safe at parkour.
I know TJ's number.
Or so it seems.
Ely
An hour lost in Ely
inspires my soul, no really.
The truncated connections and
near anguishes of the pikies
errupt around me
like quiet but unstoppable screams.
My gaze is drawn to stretched tops but I can no longer
use summer as an excuse,
not here in Ely,
not really.
Wednesday 24 March 2010
Monday 22 March 2010
haibun - Norwich to Yarmouth via hangover
Walking hangover smell breath pull face in reflection in used car show room window more care than my usual dare in crossing roads earphones roaring with loud music out vibrates brain pulsing against inside of skull where the nerves are brain does not feel pain train station full people rushing clean fresh breath and brushed hair.
Walking hangover
Does not feel pain in the brain
Though does in the skull
Off the tracks on the train on the tracks looking like someone from the other side of the tracks i read the sun knowing that it is all i am capable of this morning but having no way of making this clear to the strangers wondering who is judging me when I linger on the third page pondering who on the packed train will use this evidence against my future self phone call from my lover which I answer but am relieved when the signal goes as I become aware that I was shouting so silently i read station signs and stare at people on platforms safe behind the window of a train they will not be getting on.
The train on the tracks
Tabloid reader watches back
For his judgement day
On the other side walking again trying to keep work out of mind roadworks punch my ears the swaying of left foot right foot my stomach like the cement mixer i pass churns she rings again now we laugh no need for volume control walk down my street open my door plan to move into my shower and stay there for the rest of existence.
Then walking again
Swaying stomach churning up
Eternal shower
Walking hangover
Does not feel pain in the brain
Though does in the skull
Off the tracks on the train on the tracks looking like someone from the other side of the tracks i read the sun knowing that it is all i am capable of this morning but having no way of making this clear to the strangers wondering who is judging me when I linger on the third page pondering who on the packed train will use this evidence against my future self phone call from my lover which I answer but am relieved when the signal goes as I become aware that I was shouting so silently i read station signs and stare at people on platforms safe behind the window of a train they will not be getting on.
The train on the tracks
Tabloid reader watches back
For his judgement day
On the other side walking again trying to keep work out of mind roadworks punch my ears the swaying of left foot right foot my stomach like the cement mixer i pass churns she rings again now we laugh no need for volume control walk down my street open my door plan to move into my shower and stay there for the rest of existence.
Then walking again
Swaying stomach churning up
Eternal shower
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