At dawn, the incongruous shrieks of birds
caged in this urban labyrinth
overwhelm the rumble
of air conditioners,
mindless guardians against
the true heat of a Bankok night.
Here where my soul sneaks
between white sheets that smell
of institutional cleanliness,
and back into an indifferent body
neither glad to see it nor grown
accustomed to its presence.
Did I really need you
to tell me it’s time:
Rise, wash, feed the machine
of my musculature
and attend to my
pathetic addictions?
Coffee and cigarettes
by the streaked window
as light turns the room from
colourless grey to vapid beige.
In this great stack of sleeping souls
dreams diverse as snowflakes
melt as the sun sucks the sky into
its merciless crucible and
forges another dusty day.
I bathe in silence, dress there, too,
nod meaningless courtesy
to the desk clerk and eat toast
on the terrace.
It’s no joy to be alive
until the moment when
the cusp appears and
the chasm between life
and the lack of it,
takes on a form
we recognize.
Then, it’s too late.
You are always my first, and often my only stop at the end of the day when I want wonderful writing. The single perfect image that so often accompanies the words is an added bonus. Thank you for your work. I should have written many, many months ago, but I am a very poor correspondent.
Thank you for taking the time to comment, it’s never too late 😀
This is completely mesmerising.. I love this stanza:
In this great stack of sleeping souls
dreams diverse as snowflakes
melt as the sun sucks the sky into
its merciless crucible and
forges another dusty day.
I have such a strong image of molten metal/the sky being sucked into that crucible.. just breathtaking.
LGS xx
Bleak, but wonderful, nevertheless.
RG, I am struck speechless time and again…. Thank you, lovely and thought provoking as always.
” …I bathe in silence, dress there, too,…” What a lovely surprise of a sentence!