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'The Tourist Poem'

Posted by crusty_mcboobs on 2005.10.27 at 10:57
I'd like to be somewhere the sun sets like napalm on a copper plate of ocean
There are motor galleys beating through that mirrored sea
Minarets mounting and remounting twenty hills, awash
In billboards and temples to the lost, fading and rising in an incense haze
The streets go nameless save by the light that prisms
Through the telephone wire - and the colour of the orchids -
You can't buy boots to save your life but a billion pairs of slippers
And on corners draped in damask silk, a prayer to hand,
You squint to see propellors drone through a mustard sky.
And the women are as inscrutable as prophecy, and motion is a puzzle,
Drawing breath from fume to fume, rank and sticky with humanity,
And panting serpentine on cut-price pedals
Over a bridge kneeling in mire, sweating people from its crumble-steps,
It's gasoline everywhere to be seen; and the greasy squeeze of markets
Gives you pause enough to peel skin from tacked-on handlebars
To clap a hand to the cheek; a mosquito city
Sucking from the veins a potent humour.
And I want to be immersed under all that rumbling weight
Dredge out a groove in the muck and effluent of life
Lay me down like an axle
And plug in to the engine of the world.


this is what's called a community

Posted by kau666 on 2005.10.01 at 20:49
Current Mood: optimisticoptimistic
it's for writing stuff. anything.
it's the product of shots and mixed around cocktails.
it's for feedback. for self-improvement. for mucking around with words and ideas and anything that pops from your head to the keyboard.
it has a stupid name. what's in a name anyway?
it may fail. it will probably fail. i hope it won't

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