Still Here no.1

the ceiling splits as clay and something like
water pushes through, an emerger breeding channel and
trains throw themselves from under hills, faces
push against glass and throttle passing landscape, or
bellowing obese stacks of cloud release their burden
and your hair is livid, flattened too but

you stay sitting smoking resituated furniture as
though nothing can remind you of the day you
cracked your hips, ejected afterbirth while

I looked on in terror: my mornings remoulded-
and a seedheavy leaf distracts me still, here.

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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

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