Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Walking - Talking

Harry’s just stolen a piano
So I’m walking in the other
Direction. Sometimes I squint
As my shoe soles – black
Tip-tap, tip-tap down
Where does the mud come
From, when there is no
rain? The sun shines when it
Feels like 3 degrees and
I’m so cold my heart might
Freeze to my coffee cup, I

Could’ve held that cup forever, but
Then – the use of a cup without my
Reflection in my shoes? Don’t, doesn’t
Match my coat the fact is I should’ve
Worn another coat.
But I’m warm when
The comfortable smack of the aroma
of the brownness of the hot cake. Brioche
with oceans of chocolate chips. And
a handful of sugar puffs. I’m really into
Sugar Puffs.


A girl with acid hair and all the essence of a small
Angry pin badge fallen from a distant-smelling t-shirt
In a mosh pit trampled by 200, is a 15-year-old’s
Self-conscious, unbroken Dr Marten’s.
I wear it,
I wear it. I wear mine with all the same wreckage you
Wear yours.


Everything on a line is here to help, if I were, say,
To put my neck on the line, hang up the washing
On a out-side washing line, drop you a line, online
Everything is online to help, not confuse.
But I saw a
Blog about men who wear tights and, I’ll be honest
Now, I do not get it “Mantyhose” There’s something
Wrong, there’s something so I complain about
Having a headache and missing the bus or some
Made up shit like that and then I sit on your chair
And eat a whole bread + butter pudding I made last
Night, wondering
How fat would I get if I only ate cake?


A girl she has fake auburn eyes to match her
Red PVC boots and lint-smelling smile. So
stressful I thought my nose started to bleed-

But it was just
Running. Because it’s
I watch a hand move to her face and hear it.
mumbles follow waters and other things
I can hear she’s crying right.
Were you that girl, I mean
Was that girl you?
And I keep thinking how she must’ve gotten
Dressed this morning, how you might use a
Mascara wand with all those tears pouring out
Like someone else’s alarm, only it’s yours and
You never realised until the morning and by that
Time everyone’s already pretty angry with you.


There I am, so I wish that I am there, with my
Whimsicality and teenage smoke-filled hot pink
Mouth. With them, with their apartheid of agelessness
And satin eyes, I am. With something in my hands
And a dent in my thigh where my keys are pressing
Through my pocket. Your cheeks burning as hard
And red as the first cigarette.
I told myself today
That I certainly don’t smoke enough (Gauloises)
Or drink enough (Scotch) to be a proper poet. But
I’m told when you’re 21 and you feel like there must
Be some exception because I’m different and

Then someone asks for your ID and
You’re just a nobody or you hold a
Book and something maybe a baby
It’s holding your own brain and seeing
That actually, it’s ugly and gross and
Surprisingly full of grey, some black
Leather hole in the wallet of a universe