Untitled, Part 1

Alone I hear the exhalations of departed mulls

and my heart turns the shape of a sandal with a sock in it.

A fluffy stone.

I am as blind as the Keralan auto-rickshaw driver

and see no-one else,

even with my eyes closed.

I am walking around a reservoir past a boat-house while rowers overtake me.

Imprisonment in such horrible hope is full of uncertainty and tides.

I’m confined in a wooden jail.

Alcohol and company complete my reduction to a puppy whining at his master’s feet with a lead in its mouth.

 

Her eyes, though, are like a calm sea on a hot day,

and rescue me from the darkest depths of jellies and balconies.

 

Empty words in a quiet city, or a disappointing sneeze after a promising build-up.

Like watching Spain playing football against inferior opposition who don’t have the decency to lie down without a fight.