entry picture

Getting acquainted with the moon 
behind glass
we exchange so many glances
and on my back
a thousand heart-attacks roll past
My fingers beside, cross and uncross
as you sleep, so black
back in the real world
paid up entirely
on your subscription
to actual reality

O would you bring me a souvenir
from the envious depths of endless peace
perhaps a child or a patient nurse
or some control with a button for reverse
My fingers push that longed-for switch
as deeds recoil quickly into the body
I don't turn the key
don't cross the threshold
slip backwards, contentedly 
from actual reality

That moon shines down on all the beaches
as I drag the boat of all my thoughts
along a silver stretch of sand 
where all the land behind no longer matters
a bowl of sea, insignificantly
the only thing between the horizon and me
and crossing is possible
with all the coins that you earn
waking night after night after night
but each mile's just a measurement you take
from actual reality

I feel like a father
my child in a superposition
only alive inside its mother
between the hours of two and six
A phantom haunting, stalking
poised with talons drawn
to fly the solipsistic me
and drop him heavily
back in the sticky city streets
of actual reality...


(Nov 18). 


Any advice or suggestions welcome, not sure this one is finished just yet... T


◄ For Jordan

Anatomy of Longing ►


<Deleted User> (19913)

Wed 21st Nov 2018 12:19

I read it several times Tom and it's wonderful. One I will come back to, with lots of satisfying layers. I particularly love this line ... I drag the boat of all my thoughts
along a silver stretch of sand ...

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Stu Buck

Wed 21st Nov 2018 02:40

i like it tom. its slightly kafka-esque and has that special quality which i can only use blunt language to relate to. its a sort of nightmare under the skin/words quality.

i look forward to reading more of your work

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