Wednesday 2/07/2007 12:41:00 AM

In the antonym he called his love. The doors barked to let me in. Conjures of raindrops faulted him sharper than I ever could. A million tiny smiles teasing him through the glass. London at dusk parading its pale women in their sundry gowns. Servitude all in the circumstance. The grumpy underground choking closed on so many destinations lost in its throat.

The airport at night. Shimmering of dousing travels. People tossed to where they've gone. Swollen eyelashes thrown from their lids. In a fury of satisfaction so incomplete.

The stench of Burger King and dog piss ringing like a school bell in my head. While we cruised Schiphol for cigarettes. In another world. A quaint old life I saw the world through broken stitches. Greasy trains carried us off to places america wouldn't even let us imagine.

Still confused and loyal to the window dressing we call freedom.

We lied to ourselves and said it was the same. Knowing we had to go back.

3 comments:
Cocaine Jesus said...

grumpy underground is right.
pain the arse more like.

emeralda said...

gosh, yeah, so who am i to say that, and it really doesn't matter, who cares, but just for the sake of pinning a fleeting thought down to this virtual battle ground: your writing improved (that is: i maybe just get it more and thus is the futile question whether it is due to me or you) SO much, since my last visit, it's crazy.
why are you such a fucking good writer.
your words are so...different, so, placative imaginative (forgive me the lack of right words it' s not my native tongue) and yet not demonstrative or shall i say, pretentious.
you are gorgeous
really

alcoholic poet said...

cj: actually, i kinda liked the underground. except during rush hour of course. all in all the time i was there i felt very at home in london. after a while the tourists started to bug me though. even though i was one, it was such a long while, it seemed they were intruding on me.

emeralda: didn't realize you were still coming back. glad to know it. if you're suddenly 'getting me' i doubt that's a good thing. doubt my writing has improved so much as your ability to relate to it. wishing you well.



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