TaylorAJ

Isn't it strange
that one use to recall information
like a library being,
searching,
running fingers across the spines,
descending down a catalogue of corridors,
but as we put a foursome of minds together
sifting through the cobwebs
that decorated the stairs
in silken solitude, all was silent
as peaceful death.
So after some thorough chin-scratching,
declaring defeat,
the knowledge shootout
quickly outdrew memory,
and instantly were struck dumb,
excuses leapt form tips of tongues.

The town stirs
person by person appears
faces you've never seen
perhaps never to be captured again,
cars multiply diversely
evolving shapes and sizes,
personal and private beeswax
none of yours
dotted loitering on corners
then pottering about with intent.

Mister Litter Picker, I admire your work
though from where I sit
spouting middle-class shit
attempting to poetify my world
when there is no clue
as you ask the great confused,
they turn, blank mask stapled on hastily
pronouncing three words
tickling like the wind
trying to tempt you off the ledge
and embrace curiosity's* pull [or *Gravity]
But the coffee house is a haven
in the comfy armchair
observing the world like a television screen
all annoyances stick,
where's Mr Muscle's stain remover?
We want the wimp we remember,
not some CG modern refurb.

That's beside these points,
appeal away to the idiots you think exist.
Inhabit the lesser of evils
walk these paths alone for the umpteenth time,
curse the skyline
frown at the fantastic future fading
melt into the melodies
organise your memories
dispel despair
breathe in the morning air.

Such life bustles in the station,
each individual a pinnacle of civilisation,
the voice from the heavens
desperately wants to be real,
crying out for attention,
cutting you a break with information
hoping someone will take heed
and hold onto their belongings.

When I sat next to that girl
of familiar resemblance,
I expected an incidental conversation
yet she never turned to look,
catch my eyes when I emerged from the book,
I wasn't pretending to read,
imagining the worst situation
harbouring offence,
so weave an explanation.
She got up and left,
and I wondered whether I should call
say: "Excuse my impolititude
but, dear, I forget your name
as your grace remains
I cannot fathom an entrance
to engage in faux unpredicted
conver-fucking-sation!"

Pardon me.

I dreamt of delightful dialogue,
but watching you walk,
the coat emphasising your pale legs,
I beg for the opportunity again
yet I forget your name, friend.
These unpoeticisms, garbled
mind leaping through avenues,
the pen is a bystander
tapping its foot,
as an unclean man,
dishevelled,
intoxicates the carriage with frowns,
the world is polluted by idiots, she said,
and I agree.

Dare I question my part?
Participating in the flushing down the draining
with the sleek, brown water,
dismissing the sunlight as fragile
and blue skies a burden of expectation.
Who is the flower?
White, middle-class, British male
seeks life-fulfilling moments
direct as the dawn, distinctive,
this luck won't go away like modern pronunciations,
if it shatters then let the world fall,
offering a true life
struggles to sit
with those who service themselves.

The planets must see us as dishonest,
swimming through space,
what other place is there for us to embrace?
What life stirs in the carriage,
gawping into the palm world,
making knots in numbers
creating blunders, hunching,
thunder unseen
sense of none
the honest human
gets off at his stop.

As I boarded the older train,
a thousand buzzing commuters surrounding,
a form was faded in the reflection
drawn by orbs
there was a momentary vice-like grip
that slipped when conscience tapped
averting my mind to a past time.

Return to the window
some uncatchable sense calls,
So I obey the magnet's pull
directly I avoid colouring the image
instead try longingly to mask a natural glance
with a poignant pose
(unsuccessful, I know)
everytime I look, there locks
something like refraction,
I notice for the first time
chatter has dropped a notch,
out of headphones faintly stuttering:
Bangladeshi dance pop.

With each hesitant second
a brighter tone reforms the clouds,
given time I'd ask your destination,
there is no frown in your brow
as I contemplate to steal another glance
or stare at these lines
expecting your essence to guide my rhymes,
another thing halts me
(besides the approaching conclusion)
an electronic world
seeds a different tale,
the longing landscapes of lust linger,
reflections seem no keener as I catch you glancing,
wonder if you're chancing.

Those pale purple layers sink into the sky,
misty early evening sun
shading the Northern view
left an outline of what lies ahead.
It emerges from the earth
limbs swinging around the room
manics screech the end
but it isn't,
nor is it shrouded I beckoning bayonets
all relentless war and public transport
cannot pull the pleasure of your company,
if it did
then allow echoing silence to ensue.
I shall chew through all embarrassing situations
like those before me,
give me the beat and the rhythm
I shall show you where epiphanies exist.