All entries for March 2008

March 13, 2008

book on a red bench

it was under a false acacia. the bin overflowing
i remember it. you left the book on a red bench
i think you were french but i left without knowing
definitvely.

it was just a photogrpah effluvio greve of lillies growing
of two people with a tension but no intention
it was under a false acacia. the bin overflowing

two people that wont ever have stories, owing
to the fact that there was no middle to the book on the bench
i think you were french but i left without knowing
definitively.

we’d read the last lines you see, growing
enamoured with each other, the thirst with no quench
it was under a false acacia. the bin overflowing.

i thought about leaving my life and going
with you to find our ending that was just right.. the little wench and her Mr. French
well, i think you were french but i left without knowing
definitively

but after living opening lines and finding no middle there really was no knowing
so we stopped all that nonsense, the glue of the spine afterall smelt of fish and wasn’t strong

it was under a false acacia, the bin overflowing
i remember it. you left the book on a red bench
i think you were french, but i left without knowing,
definitively.


March 07, 2008

red acacia drips of dawn

In red acacia drips of dawn
Your fingers tangled in my hair
I roll to where the sheets are warm

I watch our bodies and the shapes they form
Bodies naked, stretched out without aesthetic care
In red acacia drips of dawn

in which the plots for our arguments are drawn
Undoing themselves in morning’s lucid glare
I roll to where the sheets are warm

The wind has changed. You can’t fly kites in storms.
You couldn’t win a thumsy war or hold my stare.
We sit inside, drenched in red acacia drips of dawn.

I try to fathom if this rocking could become my norm,
I ponder you in those elated spotlights, sunlit, rare,
I roll to where the sheets are warm

and lie staring up at where the curtain’s torn
‘us’ and the curtain need repair
But not now, not in this ficticious time of yawns
in these red acacia drips of dawn.


March 2008

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