Thursday, March 9, 2017

Kristen de Kline #69 - somebody

somebody     peak hour train from Melbourne
runs late     crushed  
five stations ahead     a driver
can't speak     his voice
trails off     into white noise land
apologises for the delay
down the line     the neon pink sky
grows dead

somebody     wavers off
to the outer suburban house fenced courtyard
cockroaches     dream
of electric sheep     stolen kisses
taste of atomic waste     the obituary
still hasn't been finished     what can you write
she was thinner than she should have been
wasting away       chainsmoking
burning heart-shaped holes      through denim
into flesh     but not chipping bone

somebody     in a gold-framed family portrait
dangles     on the living room wall
like a guillotine  
a wine glass
heads in your direction     somebody throws it and doesn't blink
glass weeps     don't you cry
neon pink turns to black
the sky grows dead, darkening

the moment of impact     you can't help thinking about
somebody kisses ashphalt: sticky tar
steel tracks that melt in the summer time
no cubes of ice     the livin' aint easy
you can make out a siren     flashes of blue, intermittent
no jumpin' fish     gin and tonics
somebody     tosses turns    
you text your son: I'm running late
somebody     wails
he messages back: what's for dinner?
somebody trails off     crushed
down the line     sticky, melting
wasting away

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