Saturday, 18 April 2015

I’d give you my address if I had one

You like to think you know why
I look out from the corner table, drink in
Conversation, inhabit elation
With a slight flick of the wrist.
My throat never moves
As the beer tips
And my eyes freeze, close, freeze

I am the pulse you leave
In another year. Like the paint dried
Over what your said was a tear-stain
On your bedpost
The rented accommodation, the half-made
Array  of promises, the cries in the dark.

Everyone feels alive clutching glass
Rather than sheets, you can feel the knife
Your touch has become.
I have lost the time
And the offer
Of walking me home

Enters your voice.
It sounds deliberate
Like the risk I entertain
As the strangers witness
My slow discomposure.
I have lived in these thoughts
Longer than I can remember
Watched the exhibitions of gentry
As my fingers go up in smoke

Will be crossed
In the dark street later
I grab your hand
Beginning to laugh –
For this is my home
This unfeeling mask

Are we  escaping and hiding a similar process?
Under the eyes of a streetcar
We are bound to confession
I would give you my address if I had one
And you learn the lesson
Looking at your hand afterwards

And seeing only tissue.