Poet | Photographer | Educator
Restaurant Window
Rue de Paradis, Paris (2012)
Cracked
Here is where the bullet
removed its copper jacket,
where it knocked on glass
with splayed fingers.
Where the tablecloth has
spread itself out in fear.
Where the menu lies
cracked open, undecided.
the dead are gentle to us
we carry them on our shoulders
sleep under the same blanket
close their eyes
adjust their lips
pick a dry spot
and bury them
not too deep
not too shallow
I am a poet of unlove
I wear shades on blind dates,
I would hate to see what you really look like.
When you say let’s talk about love, I expound
on the reproductive habits of reptiles.
I quote stats and not the stars in your eyes.
I am into the shape of your assets, financial,
not physical.
Snapshots from the streets of Edinburgh, Scotland. September, 2012.
