Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Poetry cafe number 5

I wasn't in times square in 99', waiting without patience for the coming apocalypse

I wasn't in berlin in 89', waiting without patience for the dropping of barriers

I wasn't in manchester in 79', waiting without patience for absolutely nothing to happen again

I wasn't in frisco in 69', waiting without patience for the world to wake up

but I was in south west london in 09', waiting without patience for the pills to show up

laying across figurative sofas in longing poses of communal affirmation

huffing painted lines of blue haze and white, dissociative inquiry

hurling myself away from the light in every effort to forget the blinding colours of a weakened reality

and I don't mean to romanticise it

it's just that I wasn't there for any other moment in time, only my own.

And I was here in twenty eleven, spelling out numbers into electronic symbolism

waiting for you to come through the door when I know you won't

but if you did, you'd be slightly darkened by the spanish sun, and your eyes would squint to avoid the burning sensation brought on by too much exposure to my complimentary tongue

so I wait, in this place that I am

praising it for its wood floors and white bricked sentience

as it heaves, waiting with patience for the coming together of minds

do I overestimate my place in the world?

I am a branch, hanging down into the river,

wishing that I might just break off and float away, free from my connections to this

complex tree

and, are you a strong current? Or another branch? Or does it matter as much as the simple fact that I wish you would walk through that door, and smile and make me feel a connection to the rest of this tree

You weren't there in Boston, in 04'. waiting without patience for freedom from internalized voodoo. The truth is, neither was I.

I was just across the river, not even noticing how sober I was

not even realising that I'd never met you before

So I wait,

in this place that I am

praising it for its wooden books and plastic chairs

giving in to the acceptability of it all and

waiting without patience, for the moment when I know for sure

you won't pass through that door

I may, I might, I must just write

to justify my being here, to validate my breath among you

what if my fingers seized and my lasting impression fluttered away like

so many fallen leaves, crunched together on the floor of oblivion

cleared away by the passing of time

blended into the deep, raw wound of humanity

I wish I had TV to distract me, or drugs to calm my existential dread

I wish I had a way, and a reason to justify my empty head

I wish I didn't wish for any of this

I wasn't waiting without patience, huffing, hurling, laying into reality with harsh narratives of the specificity of time, crossing rivers of fallen leaves, swimming through the wound of humanity and

I wish

I wish

I wish I didn't wish for any of this

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