#94

 

Urgh, what a horrendous weekend. I’m not here to go into details.

 

 

These mornings seem bejewelled,

Honey cells, hexagons resting against nectar

With stings curled inward. We plunge in our hands

And twist inside hedgerows,

Only to pull out scathed from night-times

Brawling over sunken ships, the face

Of an Arab on the radio. A girl

From Buenos Aires dances a heady tango

At the corner of visions.

I move too fast, the velvets of last week

Biting at my shoulder blades

Thrust memories of tastings onto four

Year-old tongues, while my temple pulses

Where knuckles, grey, still bury their

Teenage teeth, like splinters of quartz

Or insect wings. And still I hear

Your bare feet striking sand, as I try

To raise myself again.

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About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

One response to “#94

  • thebeardedlady

    Love some of the images here, most especially _the velvets of last week biting at my shoulder blades_. Really nice. I hope you are having better weekends though.

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