Tears held back bitter in the back of my throat.
The surface of the bay dimpled like orange peel in the morning landing
A red-haired oriental man scooping eggs and bacon at Auckland airport.
The old lady on the plane asks my life story; she: frail alone but with steely resolve, totally in control of her solitary journey. The movies on the back of the seat in front distract me from the wrench and serve to allay the panic that wells in my chest.
At Kuala Lampur I am surrounded by retired English couples returning from tours of the far east; I have never felt so alone.
Hurry the future; I need us all to be together soon.
London 2am: I am a man struck by lightning; I need to relearn my body’s position in this B&B bed; if you don’t write it down it goes out of your head.
Jet-lagged and jangled; dreams of lost powers of speech and jaw wired to the light and the BBC news 24 for company.
All the characters in my dreamscape with my face identical and in trench coats of brown remembrance, line up at this screen hoping for a chance to shine.
Rowing teams pass under Kew Bridge on insect legs; sunset on cold Thames water;
Beautiful and immense; London welcomes me with full moon blood eclipse and abject indifference; her history leaves no room for sentimentalism.
It’s good to be back.
The surface of the bay dimpled like orange peel in the morning landing
A red-haired oriental man scooping eggs and bacon at Auckland airport.
The old lady on the plane asks my life story; she: frail alone but with steely resolve, totally in control of her solitary journey. The movies on the back of the seat in front distract me from the wrench and serve to allay the panic that wells in my chest.
At Kuala Lampur I am surrounded by retired English couples returning from tours of the far east; I have never felt so alone.
Hurry the future; I need us all to be together soon.
London 2am: I am a man struck by lightning; I need to relearn my body’s position in this B&B bed; if you don’t write it down it goes out of your head.
Jet-lagged and jangled; dreams of lost powers of speech and jaw wired to the light and the BBC news 24 for company.
All the characters in my dreamscape with my face identical and in trench coats of brown remembrance, line up at this screen hoping for a chance to shine.
Rowing teams pass under Kew Bridge on insect legs; sunset on cold Thames water;
Beautiful and immense; London welcomes me with full moon blood eclipse and abject indifference; her history leaves no room for sentimentalism.
It’s good to be back.
2 comments:
Welcome back, Pisces.
Will your blog be renamed by any chance? From the Far Queue to the Nearer Queue??
Just kidding.....introducing levity.
Have missed your posts....! And that blood red moon......I stood under too across the Atlantic.......amazing the things that can connect strangers...
red
Make me homesick, why don't you..
:-)
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