Tuesday 12th February


Birdsong boy rides a bicycle with slicked Black hair,
Black as the bird that settles on the road,
As boiler-suited bikers round islands of tiny palm trees,
It’s a building site,
Illuminated cranes fill the horizon at night,
An aroma in the lobby,
I can’t make my mind up if it’s bad!,
Infinity elevators that makes me feel drunk,
Followed by suited smilers with tiny brass name tags,
Each of them ask,
“Do you need help?”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.