Monday, April 22, 2013
came from these prompts.
The people in their dark houses
After the fair
Lamps, Lamps, the cries of the young men
I ask but he doesn’t offer help
Every day a grey suit, but not today
It’s a shame, yes, but he has brown skin
Old songs, hopeless dreams
And the tourists in their yellow-jacket lines
Jest ‘onest nigger sweat boss
The way the oil-lamps sweat and fill us up
Faces, staring from a train, faces, faces…
It’s not quite right. Feel that? Sideways, I tell you.
Sometimes deadly is beautiful
A trip to Cannes but he stopped at Nice.
Let’s do it in honour of someone
I am worn out, like this country
His aftershave: anger and beer
The cracks in the pavement, the dust beneath my shoes
The angst reservoir
My dead girlfriend, a hobby of mine