Brownout

September 12, 2012

#8 Brownout

Burnt myself brown, darker than shoe-polish stains,
hydrocarbons aromatic, cyclic and nauseating . Smiled back
at the bushes, pockets of empty. Escaping from the
forest of burning trees and the thick smoke of bees, towards
the water source - the trickle of life.

Soundproof

#7 Soundproof

Realists think that we can’t hear what they think
about us. I’m sure that we heard her sulk, more than
once and  every time she swallows her shortcomings,
we pretend as if no pin has ever dropped, no heads
have ever turned in constant silence.

Dampness

#6 Dampness

Can I read out these leaves before they are wetter
than this weather? This dampness of the suburbs
and the mating street dogs leave behind a subtle
distraction, our eyes can’t retract. We twitch
to every exhaust of every pollutant.

Unpopular

#5 Unpopular

Music can take me there where education couldn’t.
Well I’m more of a student than a musician,
more pale than white, immensely unpopular with
my thoughts, they are so random and incoherent,
I can barely construct an image from the residual twilight.

Craving

September 9, 2012

#4 Craving

Whistle past my tangible, I long to be there.
Yes and sometimes I beg for those streets, those shops,
there’s a restlessness in my bones, I shiver out of my lungs,
I need to grab a light worm, a speed worm, please
take me to your home, the photographic comfort.

Melancholy pumpkins

#3 Melancholy pumpkins

Scrap these tunes, they smell of disgusting neighbour
notes as they wait near the table. They wait forever
until no one cares, they are tired and wasted just like their
mother. They pretend that it doesn’t hurt but are
slowly gaining weight, poor melancholy pumpkins.