Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Paralysed Tired On Coke 27th

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No idea
wot
to do
in the
dinner room.

Nice wine
is
left in the
big glasses.

Coke baubles
by the
rubber
placemats.

I
stand here
hearing TV
& buses
& men in the street
in the
dinner room
of brown floors
& tiles
I saw
you clean.

Sitting
in the
bay window now-
rain drips
wind blown
out of
the gutter.

Cars sound
behind leafy
wall of wires
I
drilled
in
summers ago.

Deck is
wet outside
like
when we
hosed
it down
for
a party
boiled
into memory
of a month long buzz
of blind flying optimism.
(SHHH!)

Flowers
nod in
the brown box
on the
window sill
& I think maybe
I’ll burn out-
torn and fragile,
a paper ribbon
after
a kids party,
meek nose
bitten,
I sit
in bay windows
alone.

No idea
wot
to do
but line this pad
& allow
loose dreaming
to beg
my tears
out.

Drugs
and my Effort
fly for
me
in dark evening
skies of embankment
trains
& my wet coat
that dried in
4 seconds
underground
at Bank
marching.

I was
moving-
MOVING
thru the city.
I’m static now
don’t know
what to do.

Ford Dagenham

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