seaboyman ~ poetry

Bodyshore

It is winter where this poem points,

Mini skirted mannequins p o s e

From behind the glasswall, okay, if it was a wall and the other side

But it's walls and then other sides.

Mind melts through the glass but the body gets stuck, close the door of the poem

And they tug at you, not bad people; people.

The posters on skyscrapers, stitched by a thousand hammers, fall to children

Who wear it a cape and jump off places, to die,

Before ever splashing to ground, blood in eye, bones like toys in a skinbag...

I could fly, over the labyrinth of glass, but what stops me

From Icarus-ing into the under,

Hellish assembly lines, slow escalators turning you into not,

Ajay'll never be you,
A prison... the poem is ending, (run your eye),

Crumbling under it's length, red unread nonsense barraging down,

Get out, okay,

And when the truth dawns upon you over the eastern rooftops-

Cut to a song sequence in Mauritius.

~Ajay
23/5/19