ten songs for children no. 8

Through acres of scratching
by streams of aching hands,
our gaslit footsteps stop and wait –
between all these trees
our lips part for a split fist.

We play our pairs
matching together this world to that
reeking of white heliotrope
and all our stiffnesses – this
place looks just like the last but

Yet we wake, as all
clasped in hides and crawling pelts –
this air, it seems familiar,
heavy with its novembers
coming from who? Sliding, soft
this crackling nylon
crosses my hairs
and pushes a sweetened mask
gaping onto our face

suddenly, we are old

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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

5 responses to “ten songs for children no. 8

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