Friday, 29 July 2011

the booth

As expected: 00h00

1

I denied you a “turn around” with a telecom nickel in the slot
destroying us through the greasy worn receiver ,
etching feelings that carved through the  static speaker 
I had a slashing thirty minutes with you and a queuing,
old bitch complaining about the cold and the verbal abuse

 2

An inflammation of feeling stains the road, the fields and the river

“How could you “
“How could you “

Gruesome sad blues turns into a stretching, elastic feeling
of black, every fucking city colour drowning morbidly into its swell 
dark, stumbling, loitering for another empty booth 

3

Detonating fear through hoarse ambulances, police and kids
looking through dirty curtains crying
 
“where are you now “
“Where are you now “

4

The nickel falls, hits the stainless steel belly flat
it makes a bad sound that says “Clank”

The phone never rings 
it’s disconnected, it peeps...peeps

She is with him
 
5

(He is fucking her)     

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