June 26, 2017 by Wayne.
Can ah, she asks
KL doesn’t last forever.
Already, the city wants more
and our replies are brighter buildings
and tumblr phrases in fluorescent
and tiny homes with fairy lights, and our
washed denim and t shirts on weekends.
The lungs pump chilled air through the
ventricles of doors closing and
the wall is glass outside and in.
(this is the descent), led by the hand
out of the shower on to the towels.
polite coughs without meter.
folded up out and against
this is the link up.
after, she sucks in with each jolt.
after Christmas, the fucking will be over.
Love in the age of capitalism. You’re trying to sell something to someone. Someone you may kind of like but you’re not sure because you don’t know her the way you know yourself which isn’t very well at all so not even to that level. This is your pitch. Your pitch is the poem. And the poem is fundamentally or nominally or thoroughly about any or all of the stages of love.
When you wake (Sleep Cycle listens to your movements)
missed calls and blackberry beeps
more things due and past due.
Back to work. Back to work. Back to work.