Friday 30 November 2012

#77 - When I Video Call You I Stare At Myself

On cameraphone, everyone looks pallid.
The living dead cluster round my porchlight,
all hipster shambles and bad dentistry.

I am at my attic window with a PSG1
and all the time in the world, baby.
Let's talk. When I ask your sign,

I can hear your atrophied higher brain functions
syruping like earthworms, trying to recall
old pathways and failing, blinded.

One of these days I will pinch you off
like a threadwart - the immaculate kick,
the punch-through, the drop.

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