The London Hours, 2012


it is so, i can’t stand
too many voices, fuzzies,
not a sound here
a lot of smiling men
girls wearing odd clothes
she by my side too long
her harm gripping mine
i tried to evade the hour
fixing images and lines
tall shoes and red net socks
soft the line from the armpit
to the heart as a finger lingers
breath held behind lips
he told me he cooked
a whole pig in his house
that once was a butcher’s shop
loosing all chances with me
other eyes were piercing
but none had the smiles
i gathered while walking
along i could have responded
a drink out late at night
not an hotel bar among
bored suits and minds set
on money work careers
too many doors and long corridors
lots of floors to step onto
knock softly and see who responds
maybe a flickering eye
boldness is rare to find
so is sweetness


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