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08 September 2012

casting off

the river didn't widen
it didn't procrastinate
it thinned 
into Gas Street Basin
lamplight lifting from the lock
casting off casting off
we passed a whispering boat
made of wildness and the artiste 
talked
loudly on her blackberry
he rolled his cigarette and sighed into the rust more
authentically than she
could ever hope to
taking two slow breaths 
before following
my question
into the marina
we watched
deep veins in the sky 
open on the tall 
machinery of this city
we watched a quiet man
fish
hooking bread onto a line
casting off casting off
I ask 
her name
my pound
of flesh she says
"remember what your mother promised you,
she promised you fuck all sweet merry dolls!"
and she shimmied down Moor Street
smelling of piss
and Elvis
the river didn't widen
it didn't procrastinate
it thinned 
into Gas Street Basin
lamplight lifting from the lock
casting off casting off

5 comments:

Brian Miller said...

dang...what a character you create in her....her dialogue as well, i can see her....

Natasha Head said...

Hello Poet! This was fantastic...some seriously freaking awesome imagery and I love the repetition of casting off...and I have to ask...does Elvis smell like peanut butter and banana's...or more like the mildew on the velvet painting festering in my closet? My mind had a blast...and is now returning for another read!

marousia said...

Love this! So vivid - I was there

hedgewitch said...

Some of the lines here just cross that border into another state of consciousness they're so sharply defining--excellent, deliberative, descriptive and dramatic-in-the-best way poem.

Kiana said...

Vivid. Beautiful Imagery. Lovely