Should fate wipe the time away
The dust that veils my mind
Shell only find the emptiness of wounds
Like lived-in rooms I left behind...
What did I set aside for better days?
Apart from distances and dead-end ways,
Not much...I always left too soon
I only knew the pavement, only knew to walk away...
The static of those early-morning phone calls
Lies silent, buried, with a certain beat
Of kindred pulses and of stairwell echoes,
Of concrete underneath our running feet...
While rust and pigment flake among the brickwork
The days last light that flows in both our veins
Retraces paths, like diagrams that whisper
Trial and error, gilded fear, grey pain...














Devious Comments
Comments
I love love love this particular pairing of words. I love what it suggests, I love the way it sounds.
Brilliant.
--
We didn't give it a mouth so it cannot complain.
the frequent references to the bloodstream and the pulse in this poem are in part taken from that friend's unfinished book "10 000 yearz" - we both liked listening to trains go by at night, and in part of that book, the underground railway network is described among other things,as a network of veins and arteries, and the city centre as "the City Heart" with it's own peculiar beat...
I'm glad you liked it.
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