I imagine a room of wax,
Filled with burning wicks and I look up to see
An aeroplane soar overhead
Through a clear and spring blue sky
As pregnant teenagers trace their own lines,
Across pebble stones, walking by.
Thursday, 7 April 2011
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
She sits just behind me on the train
Between Canterbury and Kings Cross on a Tuesday.
She chews, continuously...
Grazing animal, oblivious,
Entranced by vapid illusions
Garishly parading themselves
In colourful horror across pages of trivia
That she masticates over
And over and over.
Though she excuses herself politely,
Pulling at my head rest for a moment,
In aid of her rising to disembark.
Posted by Taren at 14:38
Spinning out on my own bloody rubbish,
Jumping at the reflections,
Peaking from beneath the table,
Sniffing for the presence of creatures like me.
There's a room at the back where I keep them
Caught. Gnashing and leering,
Jumping, dodging on their hind quarters,
And leaving traces in condensation upon the glass.
Filthy with intoxication, sweating words like
Jaundiced eyes yellow with bile
And delivered slow; careful spears
In defense against this saline tide of mad.
Posted by Taren at 14:20