Tuesday, 11 August 2009

another empty bus at shit o'clock

ride through london backwards
and it's a city out of sight and out of time.
strangers sneeze and eyeballs dry
as doors shut open open shut shut up fuck up fuck off fuck you...
and headaches start the hangover as men talk silently outside,
never seen, never unheard again.
and the piss in my gut is painful
but i've learned to keep it in
like all those thoughts reduced to silent smiles.
i can't even see the sky, can barely feel the miles,
just apathy and exhaustion on a tuesday morning
that had just been monday night.
moving backwards to go forwards yet again.
moving forwards to head back once more.

2 comments:

Paul said...

Gritty angst and poetry in one, this is your best yet!
Mr P Davies Esq.

Achal said...

Gay. Nice poem. Let's publish these in Backlash. Or better yet, let's start a spoken-word poetry night.