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April 11, 2018

Now I look up,

The danger is passed.

Is this ringing for me?

This ringing, it’s for me?

Same question, enunciation differs,

And what has she written?

It’s sordid: he legs wide,

Yes: we share a surface.

A unique façade, made for two,

She works on a lonely text.

Myself, I work alone,

Again, a repetition …. or not.

Or almost. We ride till the end, friend,

Feminine laughter, heard all about.

Here and there, mainly there,

What’s this contraption?

Always, she’s patient,

We’re losing grip.


I lost confidence in her place,

In her space. She owns me till death.

Till death? Till death. Until ….

What do you do here? I lose grip.

The worst of the worst, they say,

A phrase, unclear. Yes.

And why ask me? I’m little

To nothing. I’m fearful ….

I was fearful …. it’s never as long ….

A whore, and in her place? Whoredom.

We stop for the malnourished, in the street,

At the station, we’re blind …. at school ….

Maps of the world, unseen …. the blind eye ….

Straight line places. A watery path.

A rainy day: you were alone,

So I run …. the shards of glass ….


Awaiting a bus, most alone,

A doctor, most closed.

A staircase, spiral ….

Home: I defy you to defend.

They were turbulent times,

But home, at last.

I’ll be accompanied, until when, where?

It’s hopeless. Can I hang on?…

She asked me for assistance,

She followed me, blindly.

I showed her the way, faithfully,

I got nothing from this act.

Some ride a train one stop,

One stop that could be walked.

Hearing trains, comings, goings,

I freed myself from a strange fate.

Always learning, they say. I’m worse,

The worst. A strange line.

Don’t ask questions: it approaches,

I’ll hear it. I’m going far.

The voice of men ….

Only men follow this route,

We advise women against it.

A train overloaded,

The rubbing of dry hand against dry hand.


A new verse. The same old train,

Heading north, to new beginnings.

New horizons. The sunlight,

The early morning sunlight.

It’s no longer so early,

She was running, running late.

Follow me, dear one. My dear doe,

I won’t lead you astray.

For here, I know,

She followed me (!), like a doe.

A doe daring and brave,

Here, my doe, they sit in silence.

Yes, dear doe. You are in the right hole,

The right hole in the shrubbery.

You were fearful, I know,

I guided you, proudly.


Next time, aim for an early arrival,

They’re limited in scope and size.

They cannot, hence, operate efficiently,

I say one thing, you say another.

Don’t tell me what to do, child,

It’s impressive: impressively poor.

We are, we were, all surprised,

Sounds I loathe, for all to hear.

We’re always ill, once we’re free,

We no longer fight to survive.

A child’s coughing, far from me:

Not my concern. They still find it:

My old work, which is buried deep,

I always intend on burying it deep.

Once written, a text dies. It’s immediate,

Mummy’. The coughing child?

I believe so …. the same sound, repeatedly,

Is it really necessary? As much as a doe.


My dear doe: will she find her way?

My foot taps against a phantom.

A phenomenon. I called for your birthday,

Cretin. I’ll never know my doe’s date of birth.

But, she was born. She loves. This, I know,

She’ll forget her guiding hand.

She’ll remain grateful,

She was in a panicked state.

I freed her from angst,

Angst ridden terror and such.

And such’, a simple phrase learned,

Here was where I struggled.

Where all changed,

They’ll read me, of me.


A music teacher, silent,

Like a doe, she sits, silent.

When free, she sits, silent,

To know her at length ….

Unlikely …. I’d like to know,

Is she a doe? Is she sullen?

Why is she sullen?

She wears the scars of battles lost.

We share these scars, ingrained,

From every imagined romance.

She has her family, otherwise, nothing,

My family’s elsewhere.

She doesn’t lock the door after me,

As promised, and hence, she lies.

We had previously agreed ….


My doe ….


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