'44' (poetry)

Mr Pyjama

I look between the leaves,
Dig a little deeper and
I think and I dream and I think.
I think of you and your failing relationship...
I think of her and I feel bored.
Somewhere down the line you'll
See what I mean...
I think of you and the way your arse has
Moulded to the shapes, curves and bumps of the city, and
You'll probably try buying a new fucking arse
Or something...
It makes me genuinely sad.
Let your feet decorate the concrete and
Scratch through the surface –
Scratch the map of your mind and your heart
Onto these lonely, lonely streets and roads.
The streets where the chewing gum's
Convinced it's earnt it's place,
And from a distance the shatterings of glass
will tease you into thinking that
The city is glowing tonight.
Shimmering and sparkling,
They steal the light of the moon.
They pierce the light of the eye.
But over the rubble and beneath the stars
There are stories to be told.
So get dancing...
But I think of me and I get distracted by that
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, TICK.
I get distracted by the stains on the carpet,
The mould in the shower,
The hole in the wall behind the mirror...
Tick, tick, tick!
So I Scratch away the surface,
Dig a little deeper,
Lean in a little closer,
Peel away the blinds,
Peel away the labels,
Check underneath the record collection,
Check underneath the newspapers,
Behind the bookshelf,
Behind the branches,
Over the fences,
Beneath the bridges,
Beneath the stars –
And then I hear the trees whisper:
"This is the way of the world..."
And I think about that journey...
10,000 metres high. 10,000!
And all about the size of your thumbnail:
Another city.
Inside the creases or your palms:
Another street, another road.
Each hair on your arm
One hundred thousand or some,
Poor, poor, lost people.
And don't look back around...it's the most
Disgusting thing you'll ever see -
Because no-one fucking gets it..
And I think a little more and
Neither do I...
I look between the leaves,
Dig a little deeper, and
I think of him.
I think of her.
I think of me.
I think of the yellowing ferns,
Hanging and drooping like falling stars.
And I think a little more, and realise
It's just the tragic tale of the leaves on the trees,
The tragic way of the tides in the sea,
And somehow it links back to 'him', 'her' and 'me'.
And i think about that other journey...
Weaving in and out. In and out
On those lonely, lonely streets and roads -
And fuck i feel lonely...
And God's got a chair just like mine.
Ripped at the seams with
Everybody's name scratched all over it.
And together we listen for
The stories of the world:
It's sad. So sad,
...yet somehow beautiful?
And when it gets to 11:45pm
You'll see me
Dancing from the steps of
The bus, all the way home.
Under the moon of the night
You'll see my cold breath:
Bopping.
Bouncing.
Watch: Watch how it
Kisses those lifeless trees,
Then, bounces back...
Kisses me dryly...
And, in one dusty click of
My fingers, I'll be
Dancing all over my carpet,
Dancing inside the shower, and I'll
Look into the mirror, and:
"Hey! I'm doing okay."
Phewww.
So, thank goodness for the leaves on the trees,
Thank goodness for tides in the sea,
Because, in a mixed up, muddled up
Round about sort of way,
It kinda all makes sense. (...ish).
I once had the notion
That, shit poetry aside:
'A 30 minute bus ride will tell you
Everything you'll need to know about the world.'
Ha.
It's sad,
It's beautiful, and:
It's probably true.

justam

This one is compelling to the end!