Thursday, October 6, 2016

Robert Verdon, #320, What I Heard while I was Waiting to Die

voices of the undecided, breathless by a small volcano

the noisy unborn behind the silk road hedges of the twenty-first century

various radio musicians glistering in new funky aural jewellery

the tinkle and clink of opulent lunch hours in fantasy

the bee-buzz of afternoon

mountain bicycles and lycra humming by

nurse ’n’ patient farts and roaring truck-gears on the freeway

people in nearby beds gassing on about God

feeble winds on far-flung hills

my heart, pumping, strong — it wasn’t the problem

my lips, slimy as potato broth with vomit

voice of the voiceless, my own quiet refusal

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