Tuesday, 22 September 2015

#poem - New to #Bristol

there is
                no time
                                to sleep

the clocks are melting
like my life’s a Dali painting
with something tugging
at my brainwaves
mixing the chemistry
of the moment

the birdsong
steps of a stranger as they grit on the gravel
coarse voices in the mornings
on the bus 
someone coughs
a finger reaches out
adjusts the glasses 
just above the nose bridge
click-click, heels mark the skin of the pavements
chit-chat people talk at train stations
pre-determined conversations
in which i seek the grain of truth

just so i can
report it back here
on old-school paper
let its seeds trickle down 
the neck of the pen
and leave its mark in history
or in my own head

there is no time to sleep
the clocks are melting
soon
they will stop

all i want to know

am I just a drop
or part of the ocean?



















Image source www.moma.org

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