MAGNETIC POETRY IN SILENCE:

Mind bubble at the corner table, wi-fi’s free,
what’s the password? What you looking for?
Where’s the music gone? Why’s this room so empty
of big sound? I came here for a clue, now we’re
laying low, discrete, polite, breathing in time
with dust falling from beneath the room above,
tapping toes to the music of shuffles, chair drags,
shoe scuffs, doors opening & shut, lap-top keys arch
their backs like bony dogs, the tap dripping mimmic of,
the delicate kissing lips of, the girl curled against the boy,
wooing her with his tanks, impressing her with his in depth grasp of,
the finer details & mythologies of, driving tests, sunk into the fat
cracked leather of, an old brown sofa at the back of the room,
feet, inches from touching mine as I try not to sniff too loud,
I’m hiding, still carrying the remnants of a thing,
leaving it till the last possible second to retract the flow,
never glancing to let them know I can hear,
too near
& yet
still trying to fold myself into myself,
scratch these notes slow,
so they wont know I’m here,
disappeared,
like dust falling from beneath the room above.

listening to ‘Who’ by Tony Buck’s band Transmit

(K)