quitvision Poems, Writing

Wants and Kneads

The tiny hip coffee shop where they know your name
Sit by waist-height shell-pink windows for the open half of the day
Until at once, you’re outside and you’ve never been in
And you’re living vicariously through pretty women
Flick your eyes, pocket hands, feel the wind blow through you
Unwelcome airs glare to pass bricks under shoes
The word isn’t envy, more mixed and unclear
Knowing this ain’t you and wondering why you’re here
Pressed against unknown humans kneaded into their dough
Inadequate in context stretched vast and shallow
Recognise no features, all mushed into one face
It’s grandiose gaze bore on me is both of our waste
quitvision Poems, Writing

Six Storey

Gag on a pneumatic drill
The pavement regurgitates
Squares of digested concrete
The sound of illness all day
Makes me want to puke
My string cheese brainstem
Unplug the way an elbow
Of scaffolding might drop as I look up

And kill each migrain
As it kills me
A sudden windfall gifted
From a six storey fruit tree