Light pours in degrees from a kitchen roof and
we speak in voices thinned out, needled
each inch that shunts down optic threads

take various forms of past desperations and
mention in various forms that to think of me

is not normal, although it lets some light
once or twice rise up by degrees
past those lips and teeth to the kitchen roof

I’ll still tell you and I am not less today.

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: