Work

Work

A Poem by Steve

At night he
sleeps on ice stains,
fornicating, artificial light obliterates moon.
His eyes are old
circuits of dancing electronics
The hum of battery wire
hanging from the silence.

This is night duty at the depo.
Sleep? the day workers laughed, you'll die in there.
I smiled and thought of
echos
from mud park
where children hang on sign posts until their old enough to leave
they wear on the corners of my lips
and drip into stories that won't make it
watch them fall one by one
pass like roadsigns
into instagram dreams.

On the screen
orders from America bring the monitor to life
awaking me.
Accessories to fit, order number DBZ073, Sheridan Dark Stain:
Print and process. Repeat.
Trailing the trails, porn and social media
a bitter taste
Wanting to leave, you've had it you said,
half convinced that time.

Outside wounded Autumn coats its armour
Wet leaves and silver fingers
trailed scents of worn clothes
Everything and nothing
26 years old and I find myself thinking of
spaghetti fires over candescent hills
See it and curse
make to cross myself and
enlighten the end of a day.

Wake up.
Make coffee and leave the house.
I see
horses far off in early light, staring
they snort and wait.
A day ends and a new day begins.
Beauty in the 4am thrall is
a scratched cd
waiting to catch the sun.

© 2012 Steve


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Wicked read. I just like your voice, it is soothing and just fits nicely with how my brain is circuited.

Posted 11 Years Ago



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Added on September 28, 2012
Last Updated on September 28, 2012

Author

Steve
Steve

United Kingdom



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