Little Napolean In The Business Park



He says:

“A Spirical fire escape pierces my side
And ninety shining shoes trample brass-tinged ribs.
(Panic tastes like iron on forty-five flapping tongues
And the wedding hasn’t yet begun).
My fingers crack on greasy cubes
Twenty-six symbols that slice and burn
A flaking callous, twitching knuckles,
Weeping geneology and a fear of cats.
My eyes ache with a pixel rash, and this chair
Will not tilt back.”

And he says:

“If these are all the sad songs,
And that was all last month,
Then this is dead titanic irony;
An open-plan Arc de Triomphe.”

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 “Little Napolean In The Business Park

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