to wake in

The anxious are rapt in chariot joints, buried

half formed in earth and bound in snapped bone

„we are sincere”, they said, „this is the real thing”

 

besides, I am the miner and you dig deep

my hair scrapes along your walls

 

there are struts holding up the stones

but one of us is not proclaiming the future is not riddled

with upwards hacking,

for one of us, the spear can’t help but pause the wheels

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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

4 responses to “to wake in

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