Sunday, 7 November 2010

Three Men With Suitcases

Inside: bathroom yellow smell swells
Around cracked tiles against him,
And five pieces of silver smash
From his fist that fall pink pink pink
The same colour of the disinfectant –

Outside: three men with suitcases
Walk like Disneyfied dwarves,
Humming hi-ho with diamonds
In their eyes, which is to be seen,
With one of them smelling either brown or green –

Inside: he sits on the floor that freezes his body
He is just tired and angry like many others,
And cannot find strength to move
And cannot love a woman who loves a woman
For that woman is in love, and loves not him –

Outside: they stop and start like little ants
Building something far away,
He turns and sees you, and lets you go past
You keep walking, he smells grey,
He hates you with a smile, deep from within his heart –

Inside: momentary waves of non-sound like hummm
Or precisely aaahhh from his throat echo
A weird vibrato or an almost booming electro-magnetic pulse
Through him, which carries on in his skin
Above a soft-ish smell of ochre,

Outside: You are going home
You think you are in love
As three men with suitcases are now behind you,
Their lives safely and neatly packaged
In cases, which smell of black and white and maybe purple.

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