Continuing with our monthly series, Josh and I have decided to share poems we have written to each other in letters over the past 3 months, entitled ‘Lines in Envelopes’:
Modernist monsters in the machine of night
pour beer on all our dreams
,no movement to surf on, all stragglers
in need of clarity, sober perhaps?
But probably otherwise.
The piano slips through changes
cleaning up the strain of doubt.
I don’t know a lot about music but
I can tell something’s off-beat
when we shuffle our feet
perpetually to someone else’s drum.
TV screens in hues of pink,
a plastic rose atop a radio
a whiff of hairspray
the death chambers are coming
A little too concrete for my liking,
dial it down to an unkempt sound
that looks like breakfast in the afternoon
or silver service on the streets
and the circus leaving town.
Filthy shoes and empty ferries
year of the pigs here already
will need something
stronger than a sherry
But a bottle of Perrier will not do
so I’ll sit here under a tunnel
etching my name into law and lord.
Brutal buildings losing their shine
as the modern brute bullies the remnants
of a complicated century.
Reveal something important
Screaming at me to
Speak to strangers